


Once Upon A Dream

by galastyles



Category: Disney - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Disney, Fairies, Fire, Fluff, M/M, Maleficent - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Raven!Louis, Sleeping Beauty - Freeform, mythical creatures, prince!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29851839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galastyles/pseuds/galastyles
Summary: He can feel an unmistakable pang in his heart and he nearly laughs, nearly scoffs at the stupidity of it all. The feeling strikes in his chest again, his heart painfully twisting like it’s nothing more than a puppet being artfully controlled through tightening strings that contract against his bones and flesh, swallowing each laboured breath he takes.And then it all stops and he just stares, taking shallow breaths through quiet sniffles, pressing his palms out flat against the ground, clenching clusters of grass between his fingers until he rips them from the ground, shakily raising his hands in the air a short moment later.He’s useless to the situation and Harry’s going to die whether he likes it or not. He made the one mistake he shouldn’t have made.He fell in love with a boy who was born to die.Or the Sleeping Beauty/Maleficent AU where Harry’s a prince, unknowingly doomed with an irreversible curse gifted upon him in an act of revenge and Louis works for Maleficent, tasked with watching the boy before time runs out.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is something i’ve been working on for a few months now. One day I was watching Maleficent and I have to say I have a love for Diaval and couldn’t stop imagining him as Louis and so here we are! 
> 
> This is something I’ve been very very excited for for a while now, anyone who knows me knows my love for Disney (I can assure you this is not the last Disney themed fic you’ll receive from me). There’s a few differences within it to the original film but it does follow a lot of the original script but you’ll see how it plays out.
> 
> I want to start by saying that I haven’t proof read this because if i’m being honest, i’m lazy. Secondly, I don’t have a beta so this work hasn’t been betad. It’s just a bit of fun though so any mistakes are my own and I apologise for them in advance. 
> 
> Thirdly I want to say the biggest thank you to Camille. This work would be absolutely nothing without you and I’m so glad I got to share every step of the way of this fic with you. I love you, thank you so much for cheering me on. 
> 
> If you want to follow me then you can on Twitter or Instagram under @ jacksescapade or Tumblr @ disneydimples
> 
> Please do not translate my work without permission and don’t move it onto any other sites like Wattpad. At all. Do not copy it or steal it! 
> 
> If you want to make fan art, see something that reminds you of it, make a reaction thread or absolutely anything to do with this fic then pls do! And @ me in it, I absolutely love to see stuff like that. 
> 
> Lastly, if you like it then drop me a comment and some kudos or share it around a bit! I’d really appreciate any of that. I hope you enjoy this Disney x One Direction mashup, as far as I’m aware nobody else has done this so I’m very pleased to be able to give this to you all. Enjoy!! I love you all loads x
> 
> UPDATE: i only have this story available on wattpad under loustrawberry :)

In a far, far away land (well, it’s only France really) a baby boy was born, an heir to the throne, a prince gifted with beauty and grace. 

The kingdom rejoiced for the King and Queen had so long wished for a baby who would grow to rule their country, a grand celebration to be held in honour of his birth. All in the land were invited to the christening of the child, all except one. 

Maleficent. An old lover turned enemy of King Stefan’s, driven to an aching need of revenge for what the King had done to her. 

Unwanted and unwelcome into the castle though she would make her grand return, bestowing her own gift upon the innocent prince who lays so helplessly in his cradle. For the prince might be nothing but that — a helpless, innocent baby — but he is something of importance to Stefan, something he treasures and adores. He didn’t have compassion or sympathy when he tore Maleficent’s wings from her bare body. He didn’t have a moment of empathy or lenience when he took what was rightfully hers only for the succession of becoming King, for humans nonetheless. 

Ghastly things. 

The kingdom spend several days in drunken bliss before the christening of the baby arrives, adults happily using the occasion as an excuse to open rich wines and eat piles of luxury foods, the streets turning into banquets every night and afternoon for a week straight. Children run rampage through the streets, mumbling half-hearted apologies as they disrupt the elderly from their simple morning strolls, once pale skin flushed pink in a cloud of fogged breath from numerous ball games. 

When the day of the christening finally arrives, nobility from neighbouring kingdoms visit, bidding their good wishes to the King and Queen and their newly born son. The villagers and workers join together and even fairies from the Moorlands are welcomed to give their gratitude and well wishes. 

Five year old Prince Liam is among the nobility that arrives, though he has as close but to no interest for the baby nor the christening. He would much rather be at home, whether that be causing mayhem in the kitchens with the chefs son Niall Horan or tucked up in his room, mindlessly gazing from the window he doesn’t mind. A christening doesn’t sound very appealing to a young boy, not to mention the rather ridiculously heavy jewelled crown that’s perfectly positioned upon his perfectly styled hair, the boys fringe effortlessly swept across his forehead as mousy brown hair threatens to break from its hold and drape over hazel eyes. 

His father greets Stefan the moment they encounter each other in the grand hall, maids and butlers hurriedly bustling around, inspecting last preparations of ornate flags and ceiling high stacks of china plates set out for guests. 

The hall is eerily empty people-wise, the sleeping baby in his cradle without a mere sound. Liam’s almost tempted to walk to it, to poke it and prod it like nothing more than a toy he’s acquired because, well, even with his own kingdom and wealth Liam’s never encountered a baby in his five years of living and he finds the scrunch of flesh and pink cheeks to be quite fascinating. It’s new and exciting, a vast change to the adults whom usually surround him through dinners, luncheons and far too many glittering dances to have been to for a five year old. 

The closest he has to someone his age is Niall though even he is three (and a quarter, apparently the quarter is very important according to Niall) years older and likes to go on voyeurs he claims Liam’s too young to accompany him on. 

“One day, when you’re older.” Is usually all he gets back to persistent whines and  
drivelled begging to just leave. That’s all he wants, is to leave and he supposes he is now but it’s yet another castle in a similar setting with its quiet village and spiral staircases that never seem to end or lead to a bleak tower room, long forgotten and scattered with broken ornaments.

The two monarchs of the kingdom had fondly wished that one day their kingdoms would join in harmony and today would be the beginning of that happy partnership, Prince Liam, the only heir and child of King John to be betrothed to King Stefan and Queen Leah’s newborn. 

They engulf each other into a well spirited and friendly hug, Liam awkwardly hovering at the end of the steps. He’s met the royals only a handful of times as a child, the two families appearing at banquet after banquet, mind numbingly boring croquet matches and one particularly bad horse riding lesson. He’s not unknown to his father’s loyal compassion for his friend.

“Liam, son,” The man turns, Liam barely paying attention to words as he twirls the bottom tassel of a burgundy curtain around one finger, only slightly staggering forward at the mention of his name once it’s repeated again. “Say hello son.” John finishes, nudging his child forward with a light nudge to his upper back. 

Liam just stares for a moment, blinks at the man he’s met upon time and time again but something’s different about him. He can’t quite put his finger on it and he’s almost certain the man is wrenched by guilt and paranoia but that’s just about nothing new, he’s been like that since Liam’s known him. 

He shyly raises a hand in a polite wave, the formalities of a bow excluded from the two families before taking a wobbly step up the stairs, Stefan amusedly petting the boys hair who squirms underneath the affection, tilting his crown from its crooked position. 

He frowns, flattening his hair back down to sweep across his forehead, messily attempting to style his hair away from his eyes. His frown turns into a sweet smile the moment he feels his father’s disapproval just from an all-knowing glance in his direction, Leah guiding the small boy to the cradle with a firm hand on his shoulder. 

All he does is stare at the now awake baby, babbling and loudly whining. Emphasis on loudly. He peers at the baby, dressed in royal blues and deep shades of varying golds before scrunching his nose, hesitantly turning to look at his father with raised eyebrows. 

Do they really expect him to marry that when he’s older?

The baby is exactly just that. A baby. He’s tiny really, is the thing. He doesn’t seem like he could be a person, just a ball of pale flesh and whines and giggles that make absolutely no sense to Liam. Did he used to be like that..? Did Niall? 

He spends the next hour in pure boredom. He listens in and out to his father’s voice, lazily draping himself across the floor in an attempt to be dramatic until he gets scolded for it (“It’s not princely, Liam.” “Sit up Liam.” “Stop laying around, you’re in the way of everyone”). 

He peeks over the cradle and glances at the baby sometimes, it’s still just as boring. He prods its belly once, it giggles and he smiles, that’s about the most interaction he’s had with a human all day. 

By the time the christening has arrived and the hall is fully decorated, Liam wants to die. Not literally. Metaphorically. Well, maybe a little literally. He would rather like for the ground to swallow him up than to have to sit and elegantly watch his future husband receive gifts for simply being born. And it wasn’t like he done the work for being born! 

Everything seems to go by without a hitch until Merryweather, one of the fairies Liam has to say he’s rather fascinated by, is fluttering over the prince’s cradle, small beatings of her wings audible in the almost silent hall. Her dress is made out of petals as far as he can tell, delicate blue flowers tracing the dress from her collarbones to a similar shade of pointed shoes.

They’ve given the small prince enough, Liam thinks. Beauty and song, a boy who will grow to be beloved by all with cherry wine lips and soft brown curls, a charming voice to compliment with his charming personality, able to communicate with animals through his ability. 

Every gift they possess upon the boy a small litter of stars appear above him. They swirl into galaxies of vibrant purples and ruby reds before bursting into small bubbles of starlight, glittering down onto the child. 

The fairy hovers over the cradle, a small wand poised in her hand. Each one of them have taken turns in cooing and offering compliments over him. 

He’s still a scrunched up ball of useless flesh. 

A large gust of wind rocks through the halls, civilians shouting in terror, multiple chandeliers swinging back and forth, plummeting the room into darkness as the flames abruptly flicker out and a crash emits from the back of the hall, china smashing to the floor.

John protectively wraps a fierce arm around his eager son, pulling him further into his embrace despite the boy not seeming to be scared nor terrified of the shadowy, horned figure that dauntingly slowly approaches the two thrones standing proudly in the room. Other children cower in fear as she passes, a plume of dark emerald smoke still evaporating in the very back of the room, a long trail of a black cloak dragging behind her feet, her sceptre clicking against the ground with every step, taunting and frightening. Even the three fairies attempt to form a protective barrier around the baby, who despite the moment hasn’t made a sound, hasn’t wailed or cried in despair. The small prince stays almost silent apart from incoherent babbles of nonsensical words. 

Liam seems almost eager when he sees the woman though. She’s nothing that he’s seen before, a mere creature of whom many thought to be dead, a fairytale being who lives in the Moors, a place Liam has only heard of. He’s heard the stories of candy floss pink birds and talkative pixies, glittering lakes and tree creatures who guard the land, golden apples hanging from trees and magical flowers sprouting from the ground.

It sounds like the perfect place for a voyage, an adventurous escape of reality. 

The horned woman spends no time in her taunting, taking slow and powerful steps towards the King. 

The people clear a path for her to walk, fear ridden and aghast at the sudden disruption. When she seems pleased enough at the exclamations of horror of her appearance she begins to speak with a wicked grin, poising a girl grip on the sceptre. 

“Well, well.” She takes a slow step up the small staircase, Stefan’s hands clenching around the arm rest of the throne in anxiety. 

His body quivers, his jaw clenches and his eyes darken, the King and Maleficent almost playing a game against each other. It’s simply a matter of who will break first. 

“What a..” She pauses, her smile taking somehow a more sinister tone as John tightens his grip, squeezing the side of Liam’s arm in reassurance though he’s not sure he needs it. She’s a fascinating creature and he longs to know more. “Glittering assembly, King Stefan.” There’s a clear taunt to her words, an underlying evil lurking beneath sarcastic compliments. 

“Royalty,” She continues after not getting a response, the King and Queen nervously sharing looks. “Nobility. The gentry...” There’s a lingering to her listed sentence, the room silent and ominous as a strangled laugh emits into the hall, her eyes focusing on the three fairies, recognising but dismissing their pathetic attempts of saviour for the baby. “How quaint. Even the rabble.” 

Her eyes shift to focus upon the King again, draped in priceless jewellery and expensive clothing before they move to the Queen with her overly dramatic headpieces and ballroom worthy gowns. That was all he ever wanted. To be a King, his selfish and cruel acts leading him to a life of luxury yet soon to be a life of terrible loneliness, stricken by grief and paranoia.

She flicks one hand in the air, madly grinning as the people flinch at the slight action. A bored look falls upon her face as she blankly blinks, lips parting, flourishing in the power she possess. A simple flick of the wrist is enough to make a crowd gasp in shock, enough to make a King quiver in his confidence. 

“I must say, I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation.” She almost faux pouts, brows furrowing in playful disdain like this child’s life is nothing but a mere game to her wicked collection, a piece of the puzzle that will soon fit together into a tragic story of betrayal. 

“You’re not welcome here.” Stefan spits back through gritted teeth and darkening eyes, his body lurching slightly closer but neither he or Leah dare to move from the thrones.

“Oh.” She frowns, frantically shaking her head as her eyes stay projected towards the floor, Stefan somehow more uncomfortable from the lack of eye contact than with it. She takes a steady step forward, lifting her head up proudly into the air. “Oh dear. What an awkward situation.” She presses one bony finger along her brown sceptre with a quiet, malicious laugh that echoes around the eery walls. It’s a wooden thing, crafted by magical forces, once just a wooden stick, a common branch now a force of evil. An encrusted and secured jewel sits within the top of it, partly hidden beneath twists of dark wood, an emerald with spits of red glare frosting around the singular jewel, luring those in with its beauty, a grave danger and wickedness hidden beneath its contrasting looks. 

“You aren’t offended?” Leah speaks this time, her voice stricken with nerves and uncertainty as Maleficent slowly proceeds to twist her head around to look at the woman. 

“Why no.” She speaks patronisingly slowly, as though trying to teach a child rather than speak to an adult, nonetheless royalty of the neighbouring land. “And to show I bear no i’ll will, I too, shall bestow a gift upon the child.”

Both the King and Queen jump from their seats in frantic worry, Maleficent taking a quick step towards the cradle, her feet effortlessly guiding along the palace floors and effectively scaring the royals from moving any further. 

She takes one simple look at Stefan, the man swallowing the thick lump in his throat as he desperately shakes his head, forgiveness and desperation bleeding into one.

“We don’t want your gift!” He takes a tentative step forward and all Maleficent has to do is raise both eyebrows to warn him off, this is his problem, this is his fault. He’ll pay for the travesty and torment he caused her. 

“Stay away from the Prince!” Fauna, the green clothed fairy attempts to save the boy, fluttering in front of the cradle. She’s golden haired with wild curls that frame her face, her clothes a mixture of greens that blend into damp yellows, likely to be made out of dandelions. A small flower crown of whites, greens and yellows is tilted upon her head like a real crown. She’s wide eyed and the youngest of the three fairies, vastly similar to Tinkerbell, a pixie Liam has heard of only in his books that his mother reads him every evening after supper. 

Maleficent laughs at her futile attempt with a light eye roll. She lazily flicks her hand in their direction, light magic propelling the three backwards into a trinket box, the fairies tumbling inside, trapped with satin scraps of material and rolls of thread as the box closes with a heavy thunk.

She hesitates, staring down at the baby. He does not cry nor does he react to the woman as she would expect, a light smile falling upon his face at sight of the trespasser, eyes glistening in anticipation. She raises her hand over the baby’s bed, twirling her fingers in circular motions despite the Queen’s cries until a green shadow begins to pull from beneath her fingernails, treading past the gold and white blanket, embedding itself into the baby’s skin and clothes. 

“Listen well, all you.” She continues to twirl and spin her fingers, moving dangerously close to the baby’s cheek. “The prince shall indeed grow in grace and beauty, beloved by all whom meet him.” She takes a slow pause again, Leah desperate to save her baby boy. 

“That’s a lovely gift.” She interrupts with a quick nod of the head and desperate eyes, pressing her palms together. 

Maleficent only stares at the poor woman in a moment of pity, for she has not done wrong in her lifetime but her revenge is intended for Stefan. Her revenge moves through his loved ones, those he cherishes. 

“Don’t do this.” Stefan whispers through small, pent up breaths. He is why she is doing this. He will pay the price. 

She presses a singular finger to her lips, silencing him as she turns her head, deciding the child’s fate. Her eyes lay upon a new spinning wheel, shined and polished, the needle glistening in the darkness she created, stacks of books settled beside it. 

She takes slow steps back to the couple, eyes black as she raises her hands in the air. The room becomes a little tenser, a little darker. Children cling to their parents in fear and palace guards cower away from the Mistress Of Evil. A deathly green glow drags from her hands, creating long and wide circles around her body, billowing around her like smoke from a fire. 

“Before the sun sets on his eighteenth birthday, he will prick his finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and fall into a death like sleep from which he will never awaken.” Every word she speaks becomes louder, words echoing and thundering mercilessly around the kingdom in a public show of spite. 

Somehow John’s grip tightens on his son, terrified for his life. 

“Maleficent, please don’t do this. I’m begging you.” Stefan desperately shakes his head in a last attempt. His son is an innocent part to her game, an innocent piece to her board. 

“I like it when you beg.” Is all she responds in a simple statement, her eyes burning in a glassy frame, wild greens taunting through her pupils. Her voice becomes more stern, craving power, craving attention. “Do it again.”

He swallows before he nods, slowly bowing to his knees. It’s humiliating, degrading even. He’s a king, he shouldn’t be servicing himself to anybody, let alone the beast he claimed to have killed in order for the trophy of the royal status, his people giving him ashamed and pity looks.

“Please. I beg you.” The words are desperate and almost clingy, choked out through his mouth before she agrees, though not sure whether it’s a moment of weakness or rationalisation that the Prince is innocent. 

Revenge. Power. 

Remember those things.

“Alright.” She barely nods her head, raising her arms further into the air as the green shadows twist around her own body. “The Prince can be woken from his death like sleep.” She impatiently shifts her eyes to Stefan, mocking and unforgiving. “By true loves kiss.” She doesn’t break eye contact once, her chin tilted towards the sky in fury as she turns to the crowd, some gasping, most remaining silent in their fear. 

“This curse shall last till the end of time! No power on earth can change it!” Her voice strengthens in her final act of cruelty as she pushes both hands forward, the green smoke thundering among frenzied and panicked citizens before she disappears into the lurking shadows of the night. 

** 

The King orders every spinning wheel in the land to be destroyed in fear of his sons life being taken from him at such a young age. He’ll barely have a chance to have lived before it’s cruelly snatched from him. He tasks his men with finding each creation of a spinning wheel in the kingdom, the wheels broken and burned as they lay uselessly in the dungeons.

Liam Payne seems to be the only one not afraid of Maleficent. She’s...something to him, with his pure heart and curiosity he figures there has to be reasoning behind her evilness, behind her wickedness. An ambition of sorts. 

And maybe he should be scared of her, maybe he should be terrified like everyone else but he isn’t. 

He’s intrigued more than anything else and luckily, Niall reciprocates the feelings. Though that isn’t surprising, he’s sure the boy would go on a hunt for the Loch Ness Monster if he could. 

They spend most of the evening talking, John instantly taking Liam back after the outburst. 

Niall seems thrilled at the prospect, he has a wild imagination and makes even the most boring of things somewhat enjoyable through his creativity. Naturally he wants to go to the Moors. Liam’s not even sure how that would work, after all there is a barrier defending them and he’d rather not be decapitated by a living tree. He can only imagine his fathers face, Liam’s never even climbed a tree let alone snuck into a forbidden land full of mythical creatures. 

“Can I go?” He pouts, Niall standing up from the edge of the bed. He already knows the answer, he can feel the “you’re too young.” teetering on the tip of his tongue but he’s still going to be persistent, he’s still going to heckle Niall for hours until he agrees to steal him sweets from the kitchen in a form of bribery. 

Niall frowns, mirrors his pout and hesitates to speak as though thinking before he shakes his head. “Maybe when you’re older.” He decides on his words carefully, ruffling Liam’s hair through his fingertips in a brotherly manner. 

“But-“ He slightly whines, cut off by Niall’s strong accent.

“No. You’re too young.” He turns to leave before slowly spinning his feet backwards, eyes trained on the younger boy in either sympathy or plain amusement at his begging he isn’t sure. “What are they doing with the Prince?” 

“The prince?” Liam repeats in a mirroring echo, flattening his small fingers against his arm. 

“The baby.” Niall blinks, shuffling his feet against the carpet as he pushes his weight from foot to foot. 

“Oh.” Liam props himself up onto his knees, half resting on his elbows as he impatiently watches the blonde boy. “Father mentioned something about a cottage? I’m not really sure. He said he was going to discuss it with King Stefan. For us, me and the baby I mean.” He shakes his head, his hair aimlessly flopping in front of his eyes. 

Niall grins, it’s a mixture of wickedly bright teeth and racing thoughts. “Brilliant.” And with that he exits Liam’s room, leaving the boy alone with the promise of sweets for his silence and well, Liam’s five, so he’ll deal with that in quietly grateful solitude.

**

The three fairies whisked the baby off into the night as the King and Queen watched their only child be taken from their possession with heavy hearts. 

Alas it would be for the best, the fairies appearing as though the average villager, taking care of their orphaned child deep in the woods in a small cottage that sit nestled on the outskirts of the land. 

The Prince would have no knowledge of his status nor the curse that had been placed upon him, hidden away in a life with simplicity, gushing rivers and wicker baskets for berry picking. 

The day after his eighteenth birthday he would be returned back to his mother and father, the story once again explained and married to Prince Liam to live a happy, long and prosperous life, kingdoms uniting in their betrothal.

Happily ever after was the plan. 

**

Prince Harry did indeed grow in grace and beauty with a watchful eye looming over him though the watch was not of the fairies, those he thought to be his aunties, that watch was none other than the woman who had caused such a curse upon him. 

The fairies seemed to have no clue of how to raise a child, let alone a human baby. 

Any time he wailed or cried, hungry or bored they would attempt to feed him, greatly overestimating the child’s intelligence. They would leave him carrots and berries, assortments of raspberries and wild berries while Maleficent watched from a safe distance, the poor child left to feed himself. 

He was going to die from starvation before her curse could even take place at this rate.

She watched the baby through the window, finally approaching it through the open hatch when the three now women she had once known as a child were hurrying themselves around the rest of the cottage, evidently struggling without the use of magic. 

“Hmm,” She made her quick observation of the baby with a pinkish nose and soft lips, large wondrous eyes. She turned her eyes back to the crow that had guided her to the cottage, stroking a finger along its wing. “It’s an ugly little thing, I almost feel sorry for it.” 

She stayed still, taking a sharp breath that swallowed in her prominent cheekbones, the baby curiously babbling and reaching his hands towards her. She attempted to hiss, to scare it and make it cry again though her attempt quickly backfired, Harry childishly giggling, frothy bubbles of saliva pooling at the side of his mouth as his eyes watched the woman. 

“I hate you.” She frowned, pressing one hand onto the window pane with furrowed brows. “Beasty.” 

Harry only happily smiled, eyes glinting in the last beams of sunlight, the sky mixing into shades of deep pinks and flaming oranges as night began to approach. 

And so Maleficent disappeared, only to come back to care for the child every so often. She reasoned with herself it was merely to keep the boy alive until the curse could take full effect, not to mention the downright screaming and crying that would echo around the cottage every night. She fed him when he really needed it, even rocked his crib one night when she particularly wanted him to shut up. The fairies weren’t exactly equipped for the job nor did they have any experience though neither did Maleficent, her only reasoning for herself being that she raised herself without any parents.

She had her fun with it, tormenting the fairies-come-humans from simple spells that cast small storms in the cottage (though she never done it in rooms Harry would be present in in fear of him becoming sick) to using spells to turn them against each other, gentle tugs on the hair that would lead to petty arguments in the meadows.

The King grew darker, consumed by paranoia and a craving for vengeance as his wife grew sicker. One particularly dark night he sent his army of soldiers to burn the thick thorn wall protecting the Moors from the humans though Maleficent fought back. She remained stronger, powerful. Wicked, even. All once reminding herself of why she was doing what she was doing. She had curse the boy and the boy would inevitably die, he would pay for what his father had done.

While the three fairies fought among the cliff, Maleficent lazily swaying her fingers to cast spells and push them against each other, three year old Harry Styles drifted crookedly on his feet, waving his arms about to catch the yellow butterfly that taunted itself in front of him. 

He was changing along with the seasons, a deep red shirt that frilled around his neck and wrists loosely hanging against his pale skin. It was far too large for him and looked almost ridiculous, the little boy giggling and tripping over his own feet as they pressed into the fresh beds of grass. 

The butterfly began to drift towards the rocky cliff side, presented by misleading colourful flowers that meshed together in bright clusters, not warning anything of its true danger. 

“The little beast is about to fall of the cliff.” She mumbled to herself, faintly amused by it all. The thing his father so greatly fears shouldn’t be her. Not when she’s effectively raising his child, sure, maybe she cursed him but he’d already be dead by now if it weren’t for her.

Harry didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to realise as he teetered towards the edge, an ear-piercing scream flying from his mouth the moment his footing slipped, falling from the edge of the cliff. 

Then came silence and a lightly bored sigh from Maleficent who guided her fingers upwards, the toddler trapped into a welcoming hug from two under grown vines that lay hanging over the cliff. She raised her hand up into the air, the scoop they’d positioned him in lifting him back onto the cliff top, a golden dust threading through the branches before it disappeared, the branches drooping back to their lifeless state. 

Harry began aimlessly dancing around again, his butterfly no longer near as he drifted through the open meadows of blooming flowers and ran back and forth from his aunts at their picnic blanket, knocking pots of tea and afternoon snacks. 

Only an hour later did he appear again, running down the country paths towards the woods as Maleficent was casting a spell upon a dying tree. He came to a sudden stop upon seeing the cloaked figure, still with a cheery smile and rosy cheeks with masses of brown curls ruffled upon his head, dirt marks smearing his forehead. 

“Hello.” The boys word came out softly, like honey was dripping from his tongue, sea foam eyes peering up at her through long, thick lashes. He sounded sweet, pure, innocent. Everything she was not. He smiled, goofy dimples caving into the sides of his cheeks. 

For a moment she faltered, staring down at the toddler before her before her jaw clenched, taking a daring step backwards. “Go away.” His smile only brightened at her words, partly incapable of figuring out what she was speaking. 

He wobbled forward on his feet, Maleficent batting a hand forward in frustration, trying to persuade the child to move though children, especially this one, seem to rebel against orders. 

“Go. Go away.” 

He quietly giggled, instantly pushing his tiny body into hers and pressed his fingers around her cape. 

She sighed, defeated by his sudden intrusion of her privacy. Children. Pesky things but loveable nonetheless. 

“I don’t like children.” She stated simply, blinking down at the young Prince whom didn’t seem to react to her unkind words, dangling both of his arms in the air with a cheeky smile. 

“Up.” He stated quietly, his mouth bordering on a pout. “Up.” He repeated, clenching his hands together to try and display what he wanted. 

She huffed, not given much of a choice and maybe it was a soft spot for him. Maybe it was more than wanting to keep him alive for the curse to work but she won’t admit to it, she won’t give in to defeat. She slowly lowered, awkwardly raising both hands underneath his armpits and pulled him into her arms, attempting to rest him on her side when both of his hands took a hold of her horns. His smile widened, small palms clenching around them as his lips parted in awe. He’d never seen anything like it before, well he’d never seen much really.

He slowly let his fingers move across from the horns, the woman not speaking or pushing his tiny hands back though her neck would slightly tilt back in defence then and again. His fingers danced along the black collar of her cloak that rested by her neck, tugging on the jagged edges before he lost interest, his eyes wandering down her outfit. He pressed his nose to hers for a short moment, loudly giggling in a joyous tone before wriggling from her arms, Maleficent not hesitating in putting him back onto the ground. 

“Go along.” Her voice took an almost maternal hint to it though her face showed contrast in her great annoyance, waving a hand for the toddler to disappear. “Go.” She waved her hand one last time as the boy smiled, teetering backwards on bare feet and began to scale back through the woods, giddily journeying back to his aunts.

**

A rather small raven squawks loudly, relentlessly and helplessly battering its feathery wings against the net it’s trapped under.

It’s a dull day, bleak with grey skies in the middle of a wheat field, a farmer watching over the trapped raven as it struggles, thrashing its small body underneath the rope. It starts to thrash a bit more when the man picks up a crowbar, complaining about the animal, his intentions set on battering it to death as the dog next to it barks at it. Even if it did manage to escape the dog’s close enough to tear it down by its wing. 

A soft whisper of “into a man” sounds from between plants, the dog furiously baring its teeth as the ravens wings begin to expand, slowly forming into arms until the raven is no longer a bird but a human, the farmer already having run in fear of what he suspects to be a demon. 

The man turns out to be anything but a man, instead a boy, no older than fourteen. His body’s caked in dirt and grime, dark hair loosely swept over his eyes in light ringlets. It’s far too long, the boy blinking and examining his hands as he attempts to blow his hair from his face. He spins on his feet, staring straight back down at his naked body and wiggles his toes, half curious, half disgusted. He tries to look at everything, tries to come to terms with the feeling of the harsh cobbles underneath the littered pieces of wheat that press against his feet, his senses overloading. 

His eyes are darker than those of a natural human, specks of gold adorning the yellowish ring of his black pupils. When he finally does turn around after spinning in circles, desperately trying to figure himself out, he comes face to face with Maleficent. 

He blankly stares before taking a risqué step forward, flattening one hand against his arm. 

“What have you done to me?” His eyebrow quirks up within the question, his eyes trained on her. “What have you done to my beautiful self?” 

She smiles though it’s not sincere, more amusement than anything else. “Would you rather I let them beat you to death?” 

His hand tightens against his arm, cold shivers shooting through his body at the thought of torn wings and continuous hits from a crowbar until pain melted into a numb stinging of burning white hot knives. 

He stretches his neck back, his back artfully stretching to look at himself again. It’s new and quite frankly odd. 

“I’m not certain.” He settles on a little cheekily, eyes narrowing, his tongue in cheek attitude flaming alive. 

“Stop complaining.” She sneers, twirling a finger around the sceptre before taking a slight step forward in victory from his silence. “I saved your life.”

They share a slow beat of silence, the boy swallowing as he shakes his head, his hair tickling against his forehead. He thinks of his options of replies, something a little rude, something a little sarcastic, something truthful. “Forgive me.” He swallows again, licking his lips and relaxes at the feel of his tongue dragging across soft lips. His eyes shift downwards, gently moving his toes against his feet before she begins to speak, the boy politely guiding his eyes back up in fears of appearing rude.

“What do I call you?” 

He takes slight confidence in that, lifting his head up further into the air and pushes his hair back though he can’t seem to work out how to keep it tucked behind his ears, the damp chestnut swirls only flopping back in front of his eyes a moment later. “Louis.” He pauses with a slight cockiness, raising his chin in the air. “Do you want something from me in return for saving my life?”

“Wings.” She speaks slowly, raising a hand to rest on his shoulder. Louis can’t figure out whether it’s comforting or if he wants to push it off. It’s cold yet there’s an underlying warmness about the touch, a nagging in the back of his brain telling him to obey. 

He scrunches his brows, peering up at the woman. “What?” 

“I need you to be my wings.” 

They share one more slow look before it clicks in his brain, finally nodding in agreement.

**

As flowers began to die and bloom again, weathers changing from frosty winters to peaceful summers with the low hum of bees and splashing feet in lakes so did Harry. 

He grew and changed with the seasons, soon going from a toddler to a teenager with a surprisingly kind attitude and love for animals. 

Louis Tomlinson is fifteen and starting to adjust to his life as a human. They’re weird things, humans, but he guesses he’s going to be living the majority of his life as one now. He watches Harry every day, some as a raven, some as a human, most alongside Maleficent. 

He’s grown quite fond of the woman in a motherly way and he likes to think she has too with her fussing over him and his quick tongue in cheek comebacks that leave him childishly giggling with an icy cold glare from her. 

She doesn’t intimidate him as much as she likes to think she does, he’s seen more to her than most he thinks.

They’re tucked away in a tree one afternoon while Harry’s gone berry picking, Maleficent toying with the fairies yet again. It’s a trick she’s done once before many years ago but still greatly amusing to her nonetheless. 

They’re playing checkers inside the cottage, every window open until the breeze sways through, giving them the perfect opportunity to spy and prowl on them. Well, Louis likes to think he’s merely assisting, his back propped up against the bark as his arm lazily drifts back and forth, an open book laying between pages on his legs. He lets the book dangle between his fingers a moment later, eager eyes scanning the page. Ever since he learnt to read and learnt about books he’s been pestering Maleficent into creating books for him. She sees no point in it. He loves the escape.

He thumbs over the smooth pages, flicking to page 236 before his eyes peer up, distracted by the shouting from the cottage. 

“You cheated!” 

“I saw that!” 

“No I-“

“We’re starting again!” 

He rolls his eyes, slumping further against the tree and begins to read again, only glancing back up when he hears a quiet laugh, watching Maleficent slowly poise her fingers towards the open cottage, casting quiet spells. 

“And you say i’m childish.” He mutters, shaking his head in disapproval as he looks back down, letting his mind get lost in the imaginary world that exists only between ink and paper. 

There’s a crack of thunder and a sharp bolt of lightning before rain thunders from within the cottage along with shouts of confusion and pure anger from inside. It’s the first time he’s seen Maleficent sincerely laughing in a while. 

“Oh come on,” She turns her head towards Louis, the golden leak of magic from her fingers coming to a sudden stop though the storm inside the temporary nook of a house continues, the fairies helplessly trying to cover themselves with pots, pans and the game board. It started as a light trickle of rain before evolving into a lengthy storm, the windows flashing against the light. “That’s funny.” She smiles to herself — actually smiles to Louis’ disbelief — as he rakes his fingers back through his freshly cut hair and snaps his book closed, dark eyeliner smudging underneath his eye. 

He tilts his hand down to give her a light, mocking glare, pressing his book to his chest.

“Hysterical.” 

She shakes her head back at him, still contently smiling at the playful chaos she created and Louis can’t help but snicker, so quietly that it’s almost inaudible but this is the happiest he’s seen her in his year of lurking and humanness. It’s rather comical that it’s over one of the simplest tricks he’s ever seen her cast. 

He spends the next hour finishing his book while swinging back and forth from the tree, dangling upside down when he becomes bored of simple positions. The book’s..interesting but at the same time repeated and terribly cliched. He’s not sure he can wait for his prince anymore and perhaps he’s only a child and he’s impatient and he’s technically not actually a human, simply just a bird that doesn’t get his happily ever after but he wants one. He wants to be swept off his feet and get what everyone else seems to get in fiction. 

Love, happiness. 

It’s not a thing though according to Maleficent. It’s not real and all it does is hurt you in the end. Hurt you like inexplainable pain that you can’t ever feel again, burrowing deep into your skin and it’s like an itch that can’t ever be reached, can’t ever be relaxed. So he decides it’s probably best to throw that wish away now, to pull that penny from the so called magical well that grants your deepest wishes. It’s not going to happen. 

True love does not exist. 

When Harry finally does come back he’s giggling, rather hysterically, and it’s nothing rare, nothing concerning. In fact, maybe if he wasn’t laughing he would be more concerned.

Curiosity taking the better of him one spring afternoon he’d flown after Harry, embodying the raven yet again. He stayed nearby, flying through trees and meadows to follow him though he didn’t find anything laughable in what Harry did. Though, maybe that was because Harry could communicate with animals and beside other ravens Louis didn’t have that ability. 

He’d watch him talk from everything to deers that he would cautiously approach and kneel on the floor to discuss with to snails that he would hold cupped between two welcoming hands, sat on small logs by the lake. 

Everyone and everything Harry Styles seemed to meet he would enchant, Maleficent’s words being true in that everyone whom the boy met would become trapped by his kind words and shining personality, delighted by him. Though Harry had never met anyone opposed from his so called aunts and woodland creatures, the effect was still present. 

One day he followed Harry to the Moors, human this time. It was the closest he’d been to him in human form, hiding behind snow dusted trees to watch him, half of his body peeking out from the tree. He couldn’t get into the Moors, of course, the land protected by a thorn made barrier but he could see Harry’s curiosity a mile off. 

Louis’ been back and forth from the Moors and the neighbouring human land for as long as he can remember. He knows every way in and every way out, every way to bring that wall down and every way to keep it alive. 

He watched Harry from a fair distance, fingers nervously picking at his black cotton shirt. A warm embrace shivered down his body despite the cold bite of the winter air, his eyes shiftily watching the cloaked Prince who treaded through the soft lay of snow, snowflakes crunching underneath his boots, dark red lips trembling from the cold. 

That’s when Louis realised. Realised that this might be more than something of assistance to watching over the cursed boy, the boy who’s life is in danger because of his, dare he say friend now. 

Because, the thing is, he’s new to this human thing but the goosebumps flare up over his pale skin, the electric buzz pulses beneath his bones, his stomach swirls with butterflies and he knows what that means. 

He’s done for. Truly and utterly done for. To put it simply, he’s fucked. 

So he watched. He watched and kept his head down, tried so desperately to stay hidden until that one day he rather fondly messed up and really, it’s not his fault, Maleficent let him keep his gift of everyone falling in love with him. So it’s that. That’s it. That’s his excuse. 

It’s truly impossible to dislike him and that’s his excuse. That’s why he royally fucked up. 

It was a simple rule really, their only rule. Don’t let Harry see you. 

So when they’re stood face to face, Louis blinking up at Harry as he sits nestled in the snow, his limbs awkwardly sprawled out from the fall and it’s so cold it burns yet the heat of his embarrassment is just about saving him, this is it. He broke the one rule. A simple rule! 

Don’t let Harry see you. 

“You must be awfully cold.” It’s the first thing he said in a deep drawl, batting his captivatingly long eyelashes and extending his hand out to offer his help. God. That voice. That face. Those eyes. Stupid curse. Stupid gifts. 

“Um,” Louis started to speak, not sure whether his very little human interaction or how enchanting the boy actually was was leaving him speechless, his tongue numb in his mouth. “Yes.” He began frantically nodding his head, hurriedly standing up and brushing snow from his clothes. “Cold, yes, cold, that’s..that’s usually what happens. When you land in snow. Because i’ve done that before. Yes. Because..i’m...” He scrunched his brows, nervously laughing and avoided eye contact like it would kill him. “Normal.”

“Right..” The boy laughed with a gentle smile, pushing his hand back to fiddle with the loose thread on the cloak. “Are you from around here?” He blinked, snowflakes lazily drifting to land in his hair. “It’s just, i’ve never seen you around before but I suppose i’ve never seen many people around before.” 

He frowned, pinching his bottom lip between his finger and thumb. “Well I suppose i’ve never seen anyone really. Certainly not my own age.” 

Louis cleared his throat, pushing his hand up to his mouth before waving it in front of his face. “Nearby..not too near. Far but near.” He nodded, happy enough with his answer. Vague but still an answer nonetheless. 

Harry nodded, as curious as he was to know about this far away land he was polite and he wasn’t going to press a complete stranger for details on his birthplace. 

They took a slow tread through the snow together, no matter how much Louis thought he shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be talking to him anymore than he needed to, he couldn’t stop himself. And he was blaming that upon the curse again. Definitely. That’s why his stomach felt like it had a whole sanctuary of butterflies fluttering inside of it, that’s why his cheeks tinted a light pink anytime Harry spoke with that low, sweet rumble and that’s why his palms got clammy any time he had to muster up the courage to speak. 

“Are you staying for long?” Harry had quizzed, his long fingers pressing over frozen water. 

“What?” 

“Oh.” He turned his head, cheeks a rosy pink and lips a deeper red. “Oh. That must sound terribly rude of me! I mean, you said you’re not from around here, well.” He pauses, tinkering on a fond worthy dimpled smile. “Far but near.” He recalls before continuing. “And you don’t have to tell me how long you plan on staying, it’s a rather intrusive question really and-”

“Not long.” Louis replied, cutting the stuttering mess of a boy off. “Not long at all i’m afraid. I expect I won’t see you again.” 

Ever since that day he kept a distance. A further distance than usual, learning his lesson and sticking to raven form most of the time.

Each winter he would approach Harry for a mere day in human form, the both of them growing from teen to young adult. Fourteen to sixteen. They would spend the day walking, talking, eating. 

“You’ve grown, Sir.” 

“I wish I could say the same for you.” 

“Oi, cheeky.” 

And then he would laugh and it was this marvellous laugh that Louis didn’t think he’d ever get sick of hearing, it was all he wanted to hear actually. In contrast to his usual low, throaty voice it was high and sweet and smooth and if he said the right things his dimple would start to cave into the side of his cheek. 

One summers evening when the orange and yellows of the sky would blend together Louis took to raven form, much against Maleficent’s wishes to greet his Harry. 

He spent the evening with him, even if he didn’t know it was him, slowly watching him from the garden table, Harry’s goofily large straw hat hung around his neck, clothed in dark orange dungarees. 

They would play a bit of a game, Harry peeking up from behind the table, whether he was attempting to frighten Louis or not he wasn’t sure but it certainly didn’t work. He couldn’t communicate with the bird and it was something that puzzled him greatly but he soon brushed it off, cooing at him like he was some sort of child and ruffling it’s silky feathers. 

“Pretty bird.” He’d cooed, stroking his fingertips down its back. 

And then he grew a little older. A little closer towards his impending death like sleep and here Louis is, watching his Harry whom has no idea of his curse. 

“You seem to be quite infatuated by him Louis.” 

Louis wasn’t exactly sure if he was being taunted or rather told off or well, if she was blatantly stating facts because as much as he hated to say it, he was greatly infatuated with the Prince with the curly hair. 

“Quite.” He responded with a nod of the head and a sharp swallow, his saliva thicker as he swallowed. It was almost painful, icy. 

“Don’t be.”

**

Another winter blurs into the year, snow frosting the grounds, cold roaming the land, icicles hanging from cottage roofs. 

Harry Styles is seventeen and only two months away from his eighteenth birthday. Two months away from death and as much as Louis knows he shouldn’t think about it because it’s inevitable, he does. He’s going to die and every moment Louis spends watching him he falls further into his unforgiving frenzy of unrequited love. 

Harry doesn’t know much about Louis, he knows he visits the land at least once a day in the winter. He knows that his name is Louis. That’s where the knowing stops. 

But God does Louis know about Harry. He’s watched him grow and he’s grown alongside him. 

From the teenager who would roll down the hill until his white shirt was peppered in grass stains and mud to the young adult who flourished in his on-growing independence, spending Halloween nights gutting a pumpkin cross legged on the floor under a flickering candle light. 

He went for a walk one afternoon, pale blue cloak strung over his head, Louis quietly following behind him. He tentatively steps around fallen branches and decaying logs, careful not to cause attention to himself. He figures the long, leather coat, black shirt unbuttoned to his chest and smudged eyeliner beneath his eyes does that enough in this forest. 

Licking both lips he steps forward, snow crunching beneath his feet as he silently curses, his face contorting into distress before he ducks behind a tree, Harry spinning back on his feet at the sound. 

“Hello?” 

He freezes, scrunching his eyes shut, part of him hoping that if he keeps his eyes closed then Harry can’t see him. He can’t let him see him. He’ll recognise him and everything will go, well, horribly wrong. 

He presses his body further against the tree, listening to every slow step he takes, every curious venture towards him. Just don’t make a sound Louis, it’s simple, he thinks. The situation is far from anything simple. 

To Louis’ luck Harry becomes distracted by a deer, the woodland creature slowly approaching him from the other side of the snow dusted forest, stepping cautiously towards the human. Even animals sense his welcoming presence. 

He crouches down onto his knees as it came closer, cautiously cupping a hand forward for it to become familiar to his scent. Slowly but surely the deer appreciatively takes in his presence, pushing its head against his hand, Louis peering through twisting branches to watch him from a now safe distance. 

After a moment the deer starts to walk away again, pleased with the comfort it received from Harry as he raises back to his feet, stepping closer towards the wall of crooked thorns protecting the Moors. 

“Quite the curious little beasty.”

“Shit!” Louis jumps at the voice, both hands gripping onto tree branches as he turns his head to see Maleficent, who’s only too amused at his reaction, his heart in his mouth. “You have got to stop doing that!” He hisses between his teeth, shivering at the sudden cold air that washes over the place. 

“Give me less of such a fun reaction and I might, Louis.” 

He scowls, not having much of an answer as he pushes his body further down, eyeing Harry through the branches. 

“He has a right to be curious.” He responds sharply, swerving the conversation back to its original topic. 

“Naturally. As does everyone. A right to be curious but whether to act upon the curiosity is the debate.”

“A greatly interesting debate, I’m sure.” Louis responds dismissively, his eyes secured on Harry before they flicker over to the Kings soldiers, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. They never will give up. “He’s not the only one curious of what lays inside.”

They both take little notice of Harry who’s approaching closer to the barrier of thorns, instead watching the soldiers and their futile attempts of destruction. There must be at least twenty five of them but despite numbers they’re never going to be a threat. There could be three hundred of them and it wouldn’t bring much difference to them nor would it bring them any closer to getting into the Moors and destructing everything inside. 

“Bring them to me.” 

With a simple flick of the wrist Louis’ no longer human nor is he a raven but a large wolf, dark fur glossy and thick with a confident stance and auburn eyes, no hesitation spared as he sets off on his task, paws thundering against the path. 

Harry’s still curiously staring at the barrier, extending a hand forward to touch when his body seizes, freezing in time. A golden dust, similar to the one that had saved him so many years ago, begins to curl around his body, raising him from his feet until he’s floating on his back in the air, motionless and unmoving. The hood of his cloak drops, lips only slightly parted as free curls flutter around his ears, his body suspended in mid air. 

Only a moment later does a low howl echo around the sudden fog of the forest, soldiers and knights pausing in their plans, the horses furiously disobeying their owners at the sound. Many of them draw their weapons, searching for the identity of the creature though it only howls from the distance again. 

The fog becomes thicker, dark grey shadows casting over the ground as the wolf finally steps into view, it’s eyes a darker shade of red, teeth viciously bearing into a wicked snarl. He bounds straight after them, all of them running into the trap of being caught between the wolf and Maleficent, Louis carefully circling back and forth to make sure none of them can even attempt an escape ploy. 

She has her fun with them, lifting them into the air and throwing around the men like they’re mere rag dolls and not adults with weapons and a vengeance to kill. Most uselessly drop their weapons as they’re swung around, being mercilessly thrown against trees and the ground, knocking many of them into unconsciousness and those few who can still manage to run fleeting as soon as their feet hit the ground. 

As soon as they’re clear of people, helmets and armour hitting the ground with loud clatters she lowers, her hand hovering over an iron helmet. Her fingers edge dangerously close to the iron, a red hinge forming underneath her hand before she hisses, protectively snatching her hand to her chest as a sword gently rocks against its position stabbed into the snow.

Louis begins to pad over towards Maleficent, every step leaving paw prints in the snow, his teeth still subconsciously bared into an unamused frown. She flicks her finger towards him as soon as he grows closer with barely a look in his direction. 

He tumbles forward at the sudden action, a light groan emitting from his lips as he lays on his hands and knees. He quickly rises to his feet soon after, dusting the snow from his clothes and rubbing his hands together in a try to brush snow and dirt from his skin. He glares at her, his eyes narrowing as he swallows, his chest rising at a quicker pace than normal. 

“How could you do that to me?!” He shouts this time, spitting out his words in pure disgust, his eyes a darker tone than usual. 

“You said anything I need.” She recalls, all too memorable and all too smug. 

“Yeah but not a dog!” Louis hisses back, tucking loose strands of hair behind his ear, his open chest glimmering in anxiety driven sweat through rays of open sunshine escaping through the standing trees. 

“It was a wolf, not a dog.” She responds simply, turning and beginning to walk forward, beckoning Louis to follow after her. 

“It’s the same thing!” He shouts yet again, tripping over his own feet as he begins to trail after her, taking little to no notice of Harry who’s still suspended in the air, eyes closed and body easily floating along behind them. 

“They’re dirty, viscous, and they hunt birds!” He lists off his anger, each word tugging at a tone of spite and hatred, his boots angrily stomping against the ground in each step. 

“Fine.” A small smile tweaks at the side of her mouth as they continue walking, her head only just turning to give Louis a glance. “Next time I’ll turn you into a mealy worm.” 

“Gladly!” Louis scoffs back, tucking both of his arms over his chest, his fingertips brushing against the cold of his skin. “Anything but a filthy-” She cuts him off in an instant, already sick of his complaining as his arms turn back to their rightful wings, the boy nothing more than a raven again. 

For a short moment she stares up at Harry, lifelessly hanging from the ground, before continuing to take careful steps towards the Moors, his body moving in unison.


	2. Chapter 2

Louis’ already lazing against the branch of a tree when he spots Maleficent, his arms tucked underneath his chest, his hands gripping his side. She had the pettiness to randomly transform him back to human mid flight, sending him plummeting to the ground in a painful drop, though nevertheless he climbed his usual tree, staying hidden away in the comfort of home.

He only notices her presence when the thorns of the barrier start to crunch and curl back into each other, back into the safety of keeping every human away, a figure only just behind in mid air. 

He recognises the head of curls, the pale skin, the blood red lips.

Shit. 

Harry. 

He gradually crawls forward along the thick branch, hands poised in front of him for support, barely blinking through clusters of leaves to see dark plumes of purple lights blazing along the ground, sprinkling in ripples of once clear blue water. 

The lands much darker than it was before, as soon as the barrier was positioned into its place it grew quieter, creatures staying hidden, once golden apples turning sour shades of green, trees slowly decaying and waters freezing. It still has parts of its beauty, certain rivers freely glittering against beams of moonlight, creatures coming out to play in the dead of night, bursts of colour scurrying along the ground as though small messages being sent throughout the land. 

“Don’t fall.” She taunts, not even having to guide her eyes to know Louis’ in the tree. He’s certain she has eyes in the back of her head which wouldn’t be too surprising in all honesty. 

“What are you doing with him?” Louis questions, his protective instincts kicking in when they really shouldn’t. He drapes his feet around the branch, curling his legs around it and clenches his thighs until he’s hanging upside down, hair flopping in front of his eyes as he finally falls into view. 

“Are you suspecting I’d kill him?” She grins, somewhere between entertained and faintly bored. 

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” He shoots back in defence, eyebrows scrunching in frustration. 

“I told you not to become infatuated by the boy.” She changes the subject, freezing Harry in his place, stepping to hide between trees. 

“I’m not infatuated by the boy.” He recoils, grunting as he uses nothing but his upper body strength to hurl himself up, settling into his once comfortable position slumped against the trunk of the tree, running his fingertips over jagged pieces of bark until dirt accumulates underneath his fingernails and he starts to mindlessly pick away at it. 

They don’t speak again, his eyes never once shifting to watch what she does to Harry because he’s trying to prove a point. He’s not infatuated. 

Except he definitely is because the second he sees gold lingering in the air his eyes bounce over to his body which nestles on the ground, Harry’s eyes blinking open as he adjusts to the darkness of the night. 

Louis lurks slightly forward and only slightly, still completely out of his sight. Because he’s not infatuated. He’s not! 

At first he expects Harry to adjust to the situation and come to the realisation of where he is, to freak out and jump to his feet while desperately searching of ways out. Besides, he’s still not entirely sure why Maleficent brought him here, why his presence is needed with so little time left of his life left anyway. 

It takes Harry a long beat before it seems to process where he is but he doesn’t run. He doesn’t shout and nor does he seem concerned, his head turning as he sits, trying to take everything in and then that smile appears. Purely fascinated and enchanted by the place he’s been curious of for so many years he raises back to his feet, barely bothering to brush his clothes of dirt. 

He almost seems to laugh, stumbling forward on his feet without a query of how he got there, more so taken aback by the land than anything else. Vibrant flashes of purple and pinks spark along the free flowing waterfall, clouds masking over the pools of rocks. The colours blend into welcoming shades of red and yellows, a flash of orange and green before blue, flickers of a land he’s only left to imagination and thought appearing in front of his eyes. 

The flashes of blue turn to creatures as they approach closer, small things that whirl between their teeth as their communicate, swimming towards him. They seem kind enough, fascinated by him as he is of them, a small group of them twirling around his head before he reaches a hand out, a giggle escaping the back of his throat. They almost appear to be mermaids, something he’s heard of in story tails told by his aunts, scaly things with as much beauty as he, luscious hair and hypnotising voices except these appear to be much smaller, pet like almost but certainly magical. 

He reaches out to touch one, gleefully spinning on his feet as they flock around him. They’re not malicious as some might have thought with siren voices and misleading looks, they’re harmless, happily greeting the new visitor. 

His hand touches one, the creature as much human as he is, it’s not cold to touch but neither is it warm, the small thing mirroring his smile until it’s head dramatically turns to the trees. Harry’s not sure whether it gasps or he’s starting to imagine things, if it’s just talking in its own language, a look of panic quickly taking over the once warm smile. 

Without another noise or touch it flutters away in a hurry, the others following after it with nonsense clicks and whirrs for speech and as much as he craves to go after them he knows it’s not his place or his business. 

“I know you’re there.” He whispers breathlessly instead, his head turning towards the tree. “Don’t be afraid.” He continues with a sugary voice, testing whether to take his next step. 

There’s a low laugh from between the shadows though as some might cower in fear he stands his ground, inquisitively trying to peer through the darkness all the while Louis watches from his tree.

“I’m not afraid.” The woman replies between her laugh, Harry finally able to focus on eyes through shots of moonlight. 

“Then come out.” His head lolls against the side of his shoulder, messy curls tickling his ears. 

“Then you’ll be afraid.” There’s a slight mocking to her tone, though a sadness lingering behind it, almost hidden, he just has to listen well enough. 

He almost laughs, his cheeks raising as he smiles, innocently shaking his head in a quick jerk to the side. “No I won’t.” 

She hesitates before a small vibration of a noise falls from between the trees, taking tiredly slow strides forward until she comes into sight. 

He wobbles slightly back on his feet, staring at the woman for a short moment before confidence falls back into his posture, the boy daring to take one step closer, closing their proximity.

“I know who you are.” Harry states determinedly with quaint amusement, blinking long eyelashes against milky skin. 

“Do you?” The woman responds, her voice barely above a whisper, bathed in dark clothing, horns twisting upwards from her head. 

“You’re my fairy godmother!” The boy exclaims in a ridiculously joyous grin, all too certain in his answer as the woman blinks at him, almost in shock, almost disgusted by his answer. He can’t really tell which is more prominent with her stone like features. 

She doesn’t get chance to answer before a howl of laughter bursts from the willow trees branches, the small figure hidden deep within the trees safety cast in shadows. 

“Oh do be quiet Louis!” She shouts, tapping her sceptre against the trunk as the boy silences. A golden dust twist and turns up through the tree, Harry not sure wether it’s the figure or the magic that emits a nearly inaudible squeak from the darkness. A flutter of silky, black feathers spurt from the branches, a small, beady eyed raven perching by the bottom of her cloak. “Much better.”

“I’ve always known you were close by.” He finally continues when he realises she doesn’t seem to want to explain the raven, nervously twirling his fingers against each other, his thumbs looping in a circular motion. “You’ve been watching over me my whole life.” 

Maleficent stares at the prince, dragging the bottom of her sceptre across the floor before meeting his eyes. “How did you know?” 

“Your shadow!” He exclaims again, his teeth flashing into an endearing smile, eyes wide and doe like as he rocks forward on his feet, prising his hands together. “It’s been following me since I was a child. Wherever I was your shadow was always nearby.” He explains through a pleased laugh, the raven hopping onto a nearby branch to move closer, beating its wings in the air for attention. 

“I remember you!” Harry half giggles through his words, pressing his hand forward to ruffle the ravens feathers. “Pretty bird.” He recalls, his school child giggle apparent through the words. 

The raven affectionately pushes its head against his hand, Maleficent watching the exchange. 

“This is Louis.” He easily spreads his wings, bowing his head forward before she flicks her hand in his direction, the once raven now a boy, staggering forward at the sudden change, sending an icy glare in Maleficent’s direction. 

Harry jumps back as he does, almost tripping over air before his lips part, a breathy laugh taking in the transformation. He’s a gorgeous boy, recognisable though not completely with his long leather coat and dark eyeliner, a light scar beaten against his chest. 

“Hello Harry.” He nods his head in confirmation, Harry bowing his head back in response. He recognises the soothing voice, the pale skin, those foreboding blue eyes. 

“Louis.” He repeats slowly, pressing his lips together as Louis approaches him, taking his hand into his. The moment their hands touch a buzz vibrates through his body, a sense of belonging shooting through his spine, warmth and homeliness pulsating through cold blood. He raises Harry’s hand in the air, their fingers tingling against each other as their palms press flat against each other before he kisses the centre of his hand, his lips brushing against his knuckles as he pulls back, neither of them sure whether it was a simple sign of respect or one much more complicated in affection.

He goes to repeat his name again, brows furrowing because he feels like he knows that name and he recognises the boy but he looks almost completely different to the one he meets each winter and now that he thinks about it they never even exchanged names. 

Louis moves his hand from his, edging him forward in an attempt to overwhelm him and distract him all at once, his hand pressing to the small of Harry’s back. 

To someone who’s never seen the place before he can only watch Harry’s eyes try to trail over everything in plain sight, not even comprehensible to everything hidden beneath the surface. 

“It’s everything I imagined it would be!” He turns back on his feet, Louis snapping his hand away and pressing it to the back of his neck. He’s distracted him enough for now. “It’s just so beautiful, I’ve always wanted to-”

Maleficent’s the one to cut him off surprisingly, poising her hand forward until he’s lifelessly floating in the air again, his body limp and fragile and Louis wants to scream at her, he wants to cry and sob and hit something, anything but he doesn’t. He just stares, trailing his fingers over Harry’s, his skin cold to the touch. 

He takes in a shaky breath, wrapping his fingers in his before his left hand snakes to the back of his neck, tugging his necklace around until he unclips it, securely pressing the chain into Harry’s hand. He wraps loose beads around his fingers so he doesn’t drop it, clenching his hand into a fist to hold it. He looks so easily breakable, so easy to cause harm to and this is the last thing he should be doing. 

Falling in love. 

It’s stupid and it’s dangerous and it never ends well. 

Well, he can’t exactly say he’s experienced love but from the small fraction he’s heard about Stefan and Maleficent he wants nothing to do with it. He’s the only one who knows part of the story of her uprising into supposed evil (she did curse an innocent baby in fairness) and he’s certain he’ll be one of the only ones to know. 

He craves love though, craves compassion and that feeling. He wants that feeling bubbling over his skin, seeping into his blood and whirling around his body all the time. Harry seems to be the only one who can give him what he craves. 

Harry is love and Louis just needs to learn. 

“Quite finished?” Maleficent interrupts the moment, Louis squeezing his eyes shut. This isn’t real if he closes his eyes. Harry’s not going to disappear, he’s not in love and he’s not going to lose him. 

He’s in control. The curse won’t effect him and it won’t effect Harry. 

Except it will and the more he conspires about it in his head the further his thoughts journey from the truth, a desperate hope of living a happy life suppressing into his mind. He deserves that, right? A happy life. He’s never caused harm to anyone who didn’t deserve it. He’s served, he’s followed by the rules, he’s been faithful. 

He finally takes a steady step back from the boys body, clasping his hands behind his back.

He needs to get out of dreamland soon. Even if they do somehow manage to prevent the curse, he’s a Prince and Louis, well, he’s just Louis and he’s no use to Harry. 

“Finished.” He whimpers back, his voice trembling in his throat, eyes still tightly shut. 

This isn’t fair. 

Harry has no idea of his fate, his real life lurking in the distance and Louis does. He knows more than he should know, he knows too much and it’s not fair. 

“Well,” She starts, staring intently at the boy as his eyes sharply open. 

“Well what?” He shoots back, mere steps away from Harry’s body. 

“Are you coming?” 

He scoffs, trapping his screams in his throat before they have chance to escape. 

“To do what exactly?” He spits his words through his teeth, his eyes darkening each time he speaks. “To watch him for a little longer? To see him slowly die?! To fall further in love with someone I can never have?!” The longer he speaks the more venom falls into his words, the more anger fires inside of him, the more he wants to sob and kick something, the more everything starts to make a little less sense but hurt a little more.

She picks her words carefully, beginning to walk forward as his body drift alongside her. “You’ve always been quite the drama queen Louis.” 

He doesn’t follow. He doesn’t reply. Instead he sobs, he sobs until his throat aches and he’s screaming at the top of his lungs, throat bare and scratchy, his tongue heavy in his mouth and his vision blurred. He helplessly pounds his fists into the tree though that does little to nothing, finally collapsing onto his knees when he realises there is absolutely nothing he can do, thick, hot streams of tears pouring down his cheeks. He’s useless and he’s sat on the ground with his head in his hands, his skull painfully throbbing against his head and all he can do is sob. All he can do is cry until his eyes start to hurt, cry until his ears begin to ring and his body starts to tremble, wet tears glistening from his cheeks over the dim shadows of faint purple lights. 

He can feel an unmistakable pang in his heart and he nearly laughs, nearly scoffs at the stupidity of it all. The feeling strikes in his chest again, his heart painfully twisting like it’s nothing more than a puppet being artfully controlled through tightening strings that contract against his bones and flesh, swallowing each laboured breath he takes.

And then it all stops and he just stares, taking shallow breaths through quiet sniffles, pressing his palms out flat against the ground, clenching clusters of grass between his fingers until he rips them from the ground, shakily raising his hands in the air a short moment later. 

He’s useless to the situation and Harry’s going to die whether he likes it or not. He made the one mistake he shouldn’t have made. 

He fell in love with a boy who was born to die.

**

Stefan was driven further into his paranoia, further into insanity with every passing day, every step closer to his sons birthday. 

“You mock me,” He whispers, almost silently through the dark room, the door creaking open, small spills of candlelight illuminating the floor. The handle juts back against the wood, knocking but he takes little to no notice of the repetitive noise, blankly staring at the glass cabinet cruelly displaying Maleficent’s wings. “I know what you’re doing.” He pauses before he grins, the boy with the candle hesitantly placing his footing forward. He’s no older than nineteen, his face barely visible in the shadows of the room, the only light source coming from the flickering amber flame that wavers in the air, threatening. Though to what exactly, he’s not sure. “I know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Sire.” He interrupts, accent thick, different even as he speaks, his voice quietly trembling at the back of his throat. How he got stuck going to fetch Stefan he doesn’t know. He’s used to doing simple tasks, almost mundane and boring, carrying rolls of fabric or holding a skirt in place for his father to pin in the right position, not this. When he doesn’t get a response he takes another step forward, leaning the candle down to make way for anything hazardous on the floor. “The Queen has requested your presence.”

Again, he doesn’t get a response and great. Just great. He’s just the tailors son, why did he get lumbered with this?!

“Sire?”

“Leave.” It’s a short response, cold and unforgiving and the one response Zayn doesn’t need right now. 

“She’s...she’s not well. The doctor’s fearful she won’t make it through the night.” He attempts to persuade him though evidently nothing can get through to the man with his crazed eyes and shaky, delusional voice now.

He doesn’t bother turning his head to look at Zayn, doesn’t bother letting his eyes move from the glass cabinet. It’s just a display case really, a sick display of what he done to someone innocent. 

“Can’t you see we’re having a conversation?” His voice lowers, lazily gesturing his hand between the glass and himself. “She will come back. When the curse fails. I’ll be ready.” He speaks tauntingly slowly, moving closer to the wings with every word and Zayn feels like it’s something he definitely shouldn’t be there for, almost tripping backwards as he rapidly nods his head, too scared to say the wrong thing. 

“I apologise. I’ll leave you and...” He pauses, trying to think of the right thing to say but he doesn’t think there is a right thing to say in this situation. “I’ll leave you alone.” He rephrases, his voice barely above a whisper as he staggers back out of the door, exhaling a sigh of relief the moment he escapes back into the hallway. He carefully cups his hand around the flame, blowing it out in one breath with his back slumped against the door before he pushes his body up, a million different thoughts of what he’ll have to tell Leah trailing through his mind.

How is he going to tell a dying woman that her own husband is too caught up in schemes of killing an old lover to even visit on her death bed?

He tiredly palms his hand over his eye, begrudgingly beginning to walk down the hallway while still sleepily rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes.

This shouldn’t be his job. 

He sighs, not sure if it’s just his fed up attitude or his lack of a sleep schedule finally catching up with his body, finally treading down the hallway with one hand stuffed into his pocket, the other barely clinging onto the candle by the holder.

**

Liam Payne’s 22 and much more open to wedding a not so much ball of scrunched up pink flesh anymore when the news arrives.

The Queen passed away early morning, an impending illness with an unstoppable death. Painful and long. Liam can’t say he ever knew her well, he’d only met her a handful of times as a boy but for some reason the death feels more intimate than it should. 

The palace goes into mourning and Liam knows it sound selfish but he’s already excruciatingly bored of the closed curtains, covered mirrors and constant black clothing. For a boy who’s been kept inside for the majority of his life due to his fathers worry of something happening to him, colour is the only bit of creativity he gets to explore with and now even that’s been taken away from him. 

Niall still visits him, still teases him, still consoles him when he needs it, still steals food from the kitchens for the both of them which usually leads to a midnight feast of sweets. 

“I want to see a fairy.” He pouts, brows scrunched with a bottle of liquor laying in his hand on Liam’s bed. 

“They’re not all that amazing.” He responds, a little colder than he means, adjusting his sleeve. “Sorry.” He mutters, spinning around on his feet to see Niall half sprawled out, sucking alcohol from the pad of his thumb with pink cheeks. 

“‘S fine.” He slurs back against a light giggle, drunkenly twirling his fingers in the air. “Are they not like, cool?” He frowns, pressing his fingers to the base of his hair. 

“I suppose?” Liam shrugs, joining him on the edge of the bed. Niall doesn’t hesitate in sprawling his legs across Liam’s lap, wiggling his toes with quiet fascination before picking the nearly empty bottle of liquor up at his fingertips. 

“Want some?” He questions with an eyebrow quirk and toothy grin, one hand still threaded through his hair. 

Liam doesn’t reply, pushing the bottle down against the bed with a flat palm, his fingers outstretching over the glass. 

“Oh c’mon.” Niall whines through a hiccup, much to Liam’s surprise. He thought he’d be thrilled with the fact he gets all the alcohol. “Just a little!” He pouts again, his plump lips pursing into an all too persuasive mechanism.

Liam parts his lips, ready to argue on the matter. If his father finds them both drunk on a Tuesday evening he’ll slaughter the both of them, despite them both being quite old enough to drink whatever they want at twenty two and twenty five. Niall’s doe like eyes and envious pout persuades him to do just the opposite, grumbling underneath his breath as he snatches the bottle from his hand.

He pops the cork off with a flick of his thumb, necking the bottle down his throat in the most un-princely manner imaginable, the quick pace of the swig causing alcohol to dribble down the side of his mouth. He rubs the back of his palm over his mouth, licking his tongue out to clear the rest of it before passing it back to Niall. 

“That’s it! That’s the spirit!” Niall cheers in true Irish form, eagerly hoisting himself up the bed and downing the rest of the bottle. He drops it onto the bed, extending his arms back into the air in gleeful joy. “Let’s get fucking pissed!” 

**

It’s 2am when someone finally finds them. Liam hopes for it to be anyone but his father but purely to his bad luck it’s 2am when the door creaks open, when Liam’s sprawled out on the floor, limbs spread and his eyes drifting in and out of sleep when his father appears. It’s 2am when he’s surrounded by empty bottles of liquor and opened sweet wrappers, Niall’s feet the only thing visible on the bed, the silk curtain usually attached to the bed post lazily draped over his body and half torn when John’s standing in the doorway, staring at his nearly unconscious son and blacked out, drunken friend. 

“Dad,” He half croaks through a drunken, dopey grin, only just managing to get the strength to raise his hand in the air, his thumb up. “Lovely tequila. We should really ask Marianne to make some more of that.” 

He giggles, his breath laced with alcohol and hazelnut before his eyes crash closed into a paralysis of deep sleep, Niall’s foot twitching against the bed. His head lolls to the side, tucked between the plain carpet and his own arm, the bottom of his eyelashes fluttering against his pale skin with closed lids.

**

It’s a Thursday and Harry’s third visit to the Moors when Louis’ perched on a rock watching splits of bright moonlight streak onto the side of Harry’s face, stars threading into the sky. 

The mermaid like creatures dance over the water, the boys smile ever present in curiosity as they glide and slip through droplets of water, spinning and twirling into puffs of flamingo pink and turquoise blues, eyes wide in awe. 

He kicks his legs out from the opposite side to the prince, edging his feet against the dirt. 

Maleficent’s sat next to him, silent yet smiling. It’s sincere and something Louis’ sure doesn’t usually happen as often as when Harry’s around but with his charming tone and innocent people pleaser attitude it’s hard not to feel the flutter in your chest, hard not to let the side of your mouth start to quiver through crinkly eyes. 

They’re half sat underneath the willow tree with its drooping branches and twisting trunk, ripples reflecting back through the water with flecks of gold spiralling around the deep, melting colours. 

“They’re beautiful.” He remarks breathlessly, dimples enveloping his cheeks in a wide, open mouthed smile. 

They continue to spin around the lake, twisting and turning through each other as Louis watches with a blank stare and heavy feet. His eyes flicker back between Harry and Maleficent, the two sharing an ironically knowing look at Harry’s unknowingness. 

He shifts his hands through the water, the pad of his thumb collecting droplets that soak against his skin, his hand washing away the pinks and blues into a blur of shimmering golds and silver moonlight. 

He goes to say something but quickly falls silent, unsure on what he would ever actually say to someone he knows in reality is about to die. His hands automatically press together, fingers twirling against each other in an attempt of futile distraction. 

“Louis.” He interrupts him from his thoughts, jumping to his feet. He twirls — actually fucking twirls, his shirt flowing above his stomach, showing a light trail of unshaven hair just underneath his belly button as his necklace jostles against his chest. It’s barely noticeable, light hairs gathering against his skin, it’s cute really. A happy trail. 

He’s so happy is the thing. He doesn’t deserve what’s coming to him, he deserves to contently live the rest of his life as happy as he is right now, to live the rest of his life with that gorgeous smile and flash of alluring dimples.

“Louis.” He repeats a little louder, side stepping over stones and carefully making his way towards the other boy, his chin cupped in his hand. 

“Hmm?” He blinks, his eyelids heavy with guilt, his head tilting towards Harry as his fingernails tap against his chin. 

“I met a boy.” He starts blankly, soon reaching Louis in his dazzled state with bleary eyes tracing over the water. He snaps him out of the trance, his throat dry and light headed. “Every winter. He looked like you.” He’s still smiling, bright and consistent and Louis wants the ground to swallow him whole.

“Did he?” 

“Quite charming.” He recalls, sitting next to him. He watches his shoulders tense, his body tangle into itself in worry. “Cute...a little shy, the most incredible little laugh.” He starts to list off things about the boy in the woods, each one more specific than the next. A warm breeze envelopes his body as Harry’s words melt into a soft honey rasp in the back of his ears, his body gently slouching into relaxation the further comfortable he becomes. 

“I know it was you.” He finishes in a whisper, picking and pinching his nails between his bottom lip with a light frown, lips forming an unfamiliar movement. “I just...don’t understand why?”

Louis’ not sure what to say or what to do, uncomfortably hunching his body while pinching the laces of his boots until his fingers redden at the movement. With a suppressed, long sigh he finally raises to his feet, taking one step forward while Harry watches with curiosity. 

He doesn’t speak, instead giving a simple, steady nod of the head towards Maleficent, his eyes closing in unison. She almost seems to stall for time, hesitating while looking back between the two boys before finally flicking her wrist towards Louis. 

It only takes seconds for Louis’ appearance to change, his eyes a shade of light violet with dark specks of gold pulsing around the hue, his skin a ghostly white against the moon. His hair grows a little longer, small flicks of hair curling in against the base of his neck, ruffled into a lopsided but suitable half-quiff, dipping down beneath his eyebrow on one side. It parts perfectly, his cheekbones still as chiselled, jawline still as prominent, lips a little pinker. His usual dark shades of clothing burst into an array of colour, the barely noticeable slit in his right eyebrow disappearing. 

He’s draped in a long emerald coat that feathers at his shoulders, a playful taunt at his raven form paired with a cream shirt loosely hanging around his body and tight, black pants, expensive shoes with a hint of gold to tie the outfit together. 

“You are him!” Harry beams at the confirmation with bright eyes, still perched on the floor, back slumped against the rock. “I knew it was—“ He cuts himself off, his forehead crinkling as he frowns, small lines forming between his brows. “Why?” 

“I didn’t think you’d want to talk to the kid with the floppy hair and eyeliner and black clothes and-” He sighs, uncomfortably pushing the coat back to sit beside him again. “I don’t believe you were supposed to have met me yet.” He rephrases in a low tone, his fingers precariously squeezing at Harry’s shoulder in a light attempt of distraction. 

“It seems we have met, though.” Harry speaks quietly with a faint twitch of the lips. 

“It seems we have.” He repeats, voice dropping an octave against a weary sight. “All too early.” He shifts, his voice warping into a hushed whisper against the air. “Or all too late.”

**

“You acclaim you know the way,” Liam starts through a sigh, both of his hands hunched over the table as maids scurry behind him. 

“I do know the way!” Niall mocks in a shout back through a mouthful of sugar coated sweets, raiding the cupboards. 

“Have you ever been before?” He frowns, mumbling an apology to one of the maids as he teeters back on his feet, pushing his body out of her way. 

Niall hooks another jar underneath his arm, pushing the half eaten sweet against the back of his teeth, his shoulders shivering when he crunches down on it, a burst of lemon exploding against the roof of his mouth. He clicks his tongue, ducking down to the next closed cabinet, tastebuds overwhelming at the sudden surges of bitter lemon against his gums. 

“No but that’s besides the point.” He shakes his head as though any of what he’s saying makes sense, toppling the jars of food onto the table only to receive a sharp slap to the back of his head. 

“How many times Niall?” His father snaps, glaring down at him as Liam tries to stifle his giggles, hiding his laughs behind his sleeve with crinkled eyes. “Stop stealing from my kitchens!” 

“We’re related father!” Niall shouts back, one hand rubbing slow circles into the back of his head with a cheeky flash of white teeth. “What’s yours is mine!” 

“Well, technically this all belongs to my father-” Liam interrupts, only to be cut off by a sharp narrowing of Niall’s eyes. Liam’s right but he needs to win his argument and his truthful facts aren’t going to help that. 

“Shhh,” He whispers through an over exaggerated eye roll, unscrewing the lid of the jar. “Or I won’t take you.” 

“Take me or not I have to go.” He quiets his voice though he’s not particularly certain why, everybody knows who he’s betrothed to, whether he likes it or not. Rumours spread like wildfire around the palace regarding Stefan’s deteriorating mental state and he seems to gain slivers of information from overheard conversations with his father. He’s certain the rumours must be of some truth. They hear from him less and less each passing season, guilt and delusions swallowing him whole. 

“But you would rather go with me.” Niall counterpoints, finally popping off the yellow lid, scooting his body in further as a maid with multiple plates balanced in her hands walks past them, muttering something about how they’ve always been trouble as a pair. They both take it as quite the compliment, even over twenty years later they’re known for their rule breaking havoc by not only the staff but distant family and villagers. 

He can’t stop the grin twitching at the side of his lips from Niall’s own dopey smile and mumbled giggle, batting his hand away with a swift flick of his arm. “I suppose.” 

He lazily unwraps another sweet, barely throwing it in the air before catching it between his teeth with a snap, nose wrinkling at the hit of lemon again. He pinches Liam’s cheek in one hand, elbows resting atop the table. “Well then, follow my lead.” 

**

It’s night again on Harry’s seventh visit, his feet splashing against swirls of water, his shoes discarded and lopsided on the bank. 

Louis’ half tempted to steal them, maybe as an excuse for Harry to talk to him again, maybe just to be a little bit annoying. He’d never really had someone to tease, someone to talk to. He doesn’t think his three winter visits playing a different person to Harry is included. 

He doesn’t steal them though, he watches him instead, one hand propped up against his leg, his eyes consistently following Harry’s moving body. 

It’s dark enough that he could keep himself hidden beneath tree branches if he wanted to, which he usually would but Harry’s rather persistent is the thing and...okay. Yes. Louis has a definite crush on him. But it’s not going to go any further because it can’t. He won’t be the one to save him, he can’t be. He’s not part of the story.

“Louis!” He shouts through an all too gleeful smile and surely his cheeks must hurt. All the boy ever seems to do is smile. “You have to join!” 

His trousers are drenched through to his ankles, hair messily flopping in front of his eyes as he treads his feet against the water, twirling his toes in short circular motions until it ripples against his feet. Something uncomfortable lurches at the pit of Louis’ stomach at the sight because why does it have to be him?

“I’m not keen on water.” He responds carefully, swallowing his tongue in his mouth. He doesn’t mind water really, he’s just not certain if he can spend any more time in close contact with Harry, feelings shifting and shared laughter echoing through empty air. 

“I’ll protect you,” The boy half jokes through his boyish tone and wide eyes, hopping through the water, the bottom of his feet skidding over smooth pebble stones. He pouts, plump lips pursing into an all too adorable persuasive mechanism. “Please?” He pleads, outstretching his arms out and flexing his fingers the closer he ventures towards Louis. 

He can’t help but smile in response, all too fondly shaking his head as he claps both hands in Harry’s, letting him pull him to the balls of his feet against the soft bed of grass.

Their hands safely tangle together, fingertips pressed against fingertips, palms pressed against palm in a welcoming gesture. 

He topples on his feet slightly as he’s pulled down into the river, soles slippery against the mud. Harry’s grip only tightens around his hands as he moves, carefully guiding him into the water once he kicks his boots from his feet. 

“There,” He mumbles breathlessly, his eyes peering up at the starlit sky, hundreds of blinking balls of stardust scattered across the dark canvas of smoky sky. His eyes flutter back to Louis, quiet, low breaths flowing from his mouth in the silence of the night. His lips artfully turn into a wider smile with rosy cheeks. “Perfectly safe.”

“My hero.” Louis responds with a pinch of amusement and scatter of sarcasm, all whipped together with a sweet smile and hint of adoration. 

He laughs, it’s sugary and loud and everything Louis wants to hear for the rest of his life.

They spend the next ten minutes hopelessly toppling over each other and shouting, anytime Louis falls he drags Harry with him, clenching onto his arm or shirt until he shouts but all it really results in is childish giggles and hushed whispers.

Harry seems to attract mythical beings with his boisterous laugh and undeniable charm. Even living in the Moors he’s not certain he’s seen that many, most creatures staying hidden in the shadowy darkness the land has become ever since Stefan’s betrayal. 

Louis slowly trudges his feet through the water, his wet clothes heavy against his body. He kicks one foot, slipping backwards with a loud laugh until he lands on his back, his fingers splashing against the river with crinkled eyes and a quick show of teeth. 

Harry, though distracted, turns his head to watch the moment, a fond smile quickly visible at the sight. He turns his attention back to one of the creatures, it’s a short thing, almost frog like with webbed hands and feet, scaly skin and large ears, rather adorable in his opinion. It shyly approaches him, anxious and timid, it’s voice between a frogs croak and something Harry can’t quite make out. 

It extends its arm towards him, a small cluster of daisies gripped in its fist, only to let out a squeak when something pummels into Harry’s back. His back arches against it, a clump of cold mud flicked against his cheek and shirt, a devilish hint in his eyes when he sees the two other creatures idly stood in the water with mud dripping from their hands. He instinctively outstretches his hand towards a pile of mud, letting it spread over his pale skin as he picks it up, slopping through his fingertips. He loads his hand back in a swift motion, launching it towards the creature as it falls back into the river with a rather loud splash, others joining them through laughter, Louis still lounging back in the river, propped up on his elbows.

They start flinging mud left and right, Harry ducking any hit and hurriedly scooping it into his hands, Louis skilfully twisting and turning his body anytime it threatens to go near him. He manages a faint laugh between the mud fight, pelting anything he can while trying to keep steady on his toes, Louis’ cheeks beginning to ache at the continuous belly laugh he’s accustomed to in the last hour. 

Even Maleficent manages a laugh, something Louis hasn’t seen in years and he thinks that says it all really. 

One shot of mud skims across her cheek, smile fading as they all fall silent, Harry’s mouth just slightly agape as his stomach tightens, creatures slowly backing away in fear. 

Louis finds it hysterical. 

He hits his head against the bank twice, throwing his head back between a loud cackle, clutching both hands against his stomach. Tears pool at the side of his eyes as his loud, raucous laughs fill the air, turning from sweet giggles to small wheezes of breath between incomprehensible words of sarcasm.

She mindlessly flicks one finger towards his shaky body with a smug smile, so quickly one might miss it if they weren’t watching closely. A large clump of mud completely covers his neck and part of his face, the boy loudly complaining as Harry bursts into fits of laughter at his predicament. 

Louis takes it upon himself to carefully raise to his feet, launching himself onto Harry’s body as soon as he’s close enough. He squeals, actually squeals as Louis presses his cheek against his, smushing their faces together through layers of mud and ecstatic grins, limbs wailing in the air until they’re laughing and clutching each other’s clothes with tight grips.

For a moment, everything’s perfect. 

**

That moment promptly ends.

She attempts to revoke the curse the very same night. It doesn’t work. 

Louis shouts and screams until his head begins to throb and his skull hurts a little more, until his fingers are numb and his tongue refuses to let him speak. 

He screams at her until his voice is hoarse and scratches any time he makes a noise, a painful ache against the back of his throat. She doesn’t falter at his attempts of, well, he’s not quite sure what he thinks he’s going to do with this because she’s trying is the thing. She’s tried. There is nothing more that either of them can do to stop his fate.

He coaxes her into a second attempt of revoking it a few nights later on and maybe he shouldn’t, maybe that’ll only be more painful when it fails but if he has a chance he’s going to try and he’s going to try until his body aches, until it’s ready to give up on him and he can’t even bring himself to squint his eyes open at the sun.

He joins her this time, thinking that his presence might make some sort of a difference though the truth that spirals in the back of his head tells him otherwise. 

Harry looks peaceful asleep, Louis realises, one cheek half pressed against the pillow, his eyes fluttering and chest rising with every sleep intoxicated breath. One hand hangs over the side of the bed, the other lazing atop of the cover, his fingers gently twitching then and again between quiet noises, dreams he supposes. 

Slivers of gold and green melt together, repenting against the cottage room in a loud collapse though Harry can’t hear a sound. He peacefully shifts position and stretches his feet against the bed when the green coils bound back into his body, seeping underneath his skin and running through his blood. Whispers of “this curse will last until the end of time.” echo around the room, an uncomfortable reminder of reality.

Louis wants to scream again, in despair or frustration he’s not sure. He just wants everything to stop though. He knows that much. It’s not going to though despite his wishes. No matter how much he cries and how much he prays that Harry can live a long, tranquil life it can’t stop Maleficent’s power. She can’t even overpower herself. 

They’re useless to helping him. He’s useless to saving him.

**

He’s half asleep when he hears whispers and the patter of feet creaking across the floor. At first he tried to ignore it, turning over and pushing his head underneath his pillow, feathery comfort consoling him for what only feels like less than a minute when the door creaks open.

He grunts, naturally, flipping onto his back and lets his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, only just making out the shadow of a man before he realises.

“Liam?”

“Shh,” The man, sure enough appearing to be Liam when he comes into closer sight, crouches beside the bed, hair terrorised by wind and eyes wide. “I’m not meant to be here.”

“No you’re not.” Zayn responds simply, burrowing half of his arm to prop his pillow up. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be here next week?”

“Can I not come to see you earlier?” He whispers back in a manic tone, his tongue darting from his mouth to lick at his lower lip.

“You never have before.” He responds coldly through a thick swallow and squint of his eyes. 

“I suppose I haven’t.” Liam replies, mirroring Zayn’s unwelcoming frown. 

“So,” Zayn starts again, voice a little groggy against the evening air. “What are you doing here?” 

“I wanted to see you.” Liam admits lowly, his eyes casting down to the floor in his crouched position, feet shuffling against the carpet. “Harry will be returning in a week and everyone, everyone expects so much from me and we can’t— we can’t be anything once the week is over.” 

“I wrote to you.” He mutters his words with a spit of venom and a shake of his voice. “I wrote to you for weeks. Months. You never replied, not once.”

“You wrote..?” His voice wavers, his hands clenching onto the sheets, balling the material into tight fists. “My father’s paranoid. Anything I receive doesn’t go to me it goes to Elissa.” With each word his voice becomes a bit more confident in his point, a little stronger against his mouth.

He sighs, defeated. His one point to be mad at Liam disappearing though it comes with a splash of relief because he wasn’t really ignoring him. 

“Get in.” He groans, rolling his body over on the bed to give Liam space to climb beside him. They’ve known each other for years now, the handful of times Liam did visit (though progressively less frequent) they would somehow stumble into each other through the halls and ballrooms. Small touches of fingers against fingers would turn to sweet kisses pressed against walls, gentle caresses and long nights of passion. 

He doesn’t hesitate in joining Zayn, sliding next to him until he comfortably shifts his body and hooks his arms around his waist, feathering small kisses down his neck. 

They know that whatever they are has to come to a stop before the end of the week arrives. 

With a long sigh Zayn tucks his head beneath his chin, lips parted and eyes peacefully closing. 

“I love you.” He admits for the first time in a tired whisper and he knows it’s the wrong time but his hands feel so secure on his waist, so safe and right that the moment seems almost inevitable. 

He’s greeted in return with silence, though a stronger grip tugging on his waist before Liam’s lips tickle against his bare skin, dragging over his neck, wisps of unkempt hair dancing against his body. 

“I love you too.”

**

“He’s incredible!” Harry exclaims, the pads of his fingers gently brushing against the winged creature, Louis crouched on the floor with his bottom lip pinched between his fingers. 

“I suppose.” He replies, glancing up at the creature. It would surely have the ability to kill within seconds if it weren’t peaceful, low croaks in the form of a purr escaping it’s mouth anytime Harry’s hand pets it’s head, silky wings slowly beating against the air with small gusts of warm wind enveloping beneath its wings.

It must be something quite exciting to Harry. A human.

Louis often forgets the simplicity of Harry’s life in his cottage, surrounded by flocks of flowers and soft grass beneath his feet, cares and worries nonexistent.

Even through numerous visits he still manages to find something new every time, whether it be a fairy hiding behind delicate wings or a rather brightly coloured and lopsided mushroom that he seems to take interest to. 

The quick stream of the water rushes between rocks, calming into a soothing ripple as it flows down the land, trees bending and outstretching towards the sky while surrounded by flowers of all different colours. Pinks and blues and golds and silvers meshing into bursts of plants.

The creature purrs once more, a soft smile overtaking Louis’ features with warm eyes. 

He’s so delicate with everything, so precious, so...thoughtful. He’s someone who has every reason to live a long, fulfilled life of peace and harmony. 

“Harry,” A distant, female call sounds through thicker drifts of air, Louis’ hand tentatively reaching towards the creature. 

He watches Harry momentarily turn his head, his hand wavering in mid air. 

“Come here.”

He frowns, head turning back to Louis, he can’t help but feel like he’s done something wrong, like a child being pulled upon by the headmistress for misbehaving in class. 

He carefully manoeuvres his steps across the moss covered slabs of stones that are crookedly bent into steps, the glare of the sun beating against his body. 

The creature inquisitively follows, knocking Louis back with a low grumble of annoyance, his back sprawled out on the grass and rock. 

Neither Harry nor Maleficent seem to take interest in his predicament though, his eyes narrowing into a useless glare towards the pair. 

“Sit.” 

It’s a command really, one that Harry feels naturally ordered to obey but there’s a warmness in her voice, an underlying tone of safety.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” She starts and Harry’s features faze for a moment with a quick swallow and innocent batt of his eyelashes, small white blossoms intertwined in his hair after Louis insistently persuaded Harry that he just needed flowers in his hair. He just did.

His head cocks, long blinks of his eyes watching the woman. 

“What is it?” His voice is much softer than usual, concern lacing beneath his sugary sweet tone, the tip of his nose dusted pink.

“There’s an evil in this world.” 

Louis’ curiosity becomes the better of him, silently stepping behind the trees.

“And I cannot keep you from it.”

He frowns again, shuffling his knees, feet covered by his clothes. 

“I’m almost eighteen.” He whispers and the fact shouldn’t hurt Louis as much as it does, a heart wrenching pain tugging at his heart, stabbing white hot at his body with an almost too loud grunt of annoyance? Hopelessness? He’s not particularly sure. Both, he thinks. “I can take care of myself Godmother.”

“I understand.” Her head barely moves into a nod, Louis’ foot grazing along the base of a the tree with a heavy but nearly silent thud. “But that’s not what I-”

Harry cuts her off with an all too toothy, bright grin, dimples deep in his cheeks with the easy smile. His cheeks regain colour, a pop of pink grazing the milky complexion as he excitedly begins to speak. 

“I have a plan! When I’m older, I’m going to live here in the Moors!” His voice softens with every word, eyes fainting innocence as his fingers twirl against each other in his lap.

“With you. And Louis.” He continues, smile widening against his cheeks as Louis just stares, blankly, body shivering in anticipation. “Then we can all look after each other.” His eyes widen, his teeth anxiously biting at his lip as he looks up at Maleficent, hoping for confirmation in his idea, her features only giving away her process of thought but nothing more. 

“You don’t have to wait until your older. You could live here now.”

She’s half the reason the boy has made it as far as he has in life, without his help surely the three “humans” he lives with now would’ve accidentally force fed him something awfully close to poisonous years ago.

“Then I will!” Harry exclaims once again, jumping to his feet with all too much excitement, his fingers delicately pinching at his clothing. He steps forward, shirt twirling against his body, Louis confidently laying above the willow tree now, once again secured within its branches and in earshot.

“I’ll be happy here for the rest of my life,” He starts breathlessly, spinning on his feet to glance towards Maleficent, his hands clasped in front of him. His face cracks into a larger smile between a childish giggle. “I know I will.”

His feet instinctively begin to pace, turning in on each other with every step, leading him slightly clumsy and foolish though Louis can’t help but smile, lazing his head back against the trunk.

“I’ll tell my aunties tomorrow.” He decides with a sharp nod, clapping his hands together at his chest. His eyes gaze around the scenery, branches of the willow tree drooping towards the ground before he becomes eye to eye with Maleficent, nothing else being able to describe his smile but gleeful joy. 

“Until tomorrow.”

A slow rumble of a mixture between a belly laugh and a giggle falls from his lips once and then twice, the boy nervously pushing his feet up against the floor in a sideways step. 

“Until tomorrow!” He repeats, a little louder and obscenely more animated. For a quick second he props his feet up, hopping over to the tree to approach Louis, his own amused grin present. “Tomorrow.” 

He grins back, eyes twinkling. 

“See you tomorrow, Harry.” Louis finishes for him, eyes cast down on him with a playful taunt, much brighter than usual in contrast to his dark clothing. 

He spins back with one last breathy giggle, giddily pacing his feet into a light jog and disappearing from sight, his voice just a chimed echo replaying in a sweet rasp through Louis’ ears. 

**

“I’m almost eighteen,” Harry whispers to himself, pacing back and forth between the clearing in the woods, his hands clasped in front of his chest. “I need a life of my own.” He frowns, frantically shaking his head as his eyes guide towards the lake. “No.” He lets out an elongated sigh, taking an unsteady step towards the water. “That’s not right.”

“I love you very much.” He starts again, quiet yet inaudible trots of a horses hooves padding along the ground nearby, though Harry is far too wrapped up within his own speech and dilemma to notice the noise. “But it’s time to say goodbye, you’ve been very good to me!” His voice wavers just slightly before he frowns again, the corners of his lips turning downwards into a facial expression that should be considered unpleasant but he has a certain charm to the look. “Apart from the time you accidentally fed me spiders.”

“Hello,” He’s cut off by an unfamiliar voice, instantly spinning on his feet and staggering backwards in shock. For a boy who was sheltered most of his life he’s not completely used to human interaction. The boy though is gorgeous, draped in expensive clothing with honey brown eyes and a warm smile, a flash of perfectly white teeth. He extends one arm out towards Harry as he trips backwards until his back pummels into one of the larger trees, repeatedly blinking at him. 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, you see, I came with my horse, for a ride. An escape I suppose and well, I seem to be terribly lost. I was going back to King Stefan’s castle.” He lets out an endearing, light laugh between the last words, the true figure of a prince.

There’s a flash of panic that strikes through Harry’s eyes, thickly swallowing as he lets out a trapped mixture of gasp and whimper caught in his throat. 

“Could you help me?” He takes one step closer, startling Harry until he slips between the thick trail of mud underneath his shoes, Liam instantly reaching his hands out to steady. “Oh I’m sorry, that was my fault, I rushed into things.”

They fall silent the moment he grips his hands in his, their palms pressed flat been ty each other, their fingers intertwining through shared, innocent looks.

They both pull back, sheepish and startled as they stare. 

“Forgive me..I, that was rather intrusive of me.” 

“It’s that way.” Harry finally speaks, pointing one finger towards a path, Liam’s eyes flickering to match his. “The castle.” He reiterates when he sees Liam’s brows furrowed in confusion, mouth dry. 

Liam fumbles his fingers around his sleeves, delicately gripping the material to calm himself. He can’t explain the sudden connection between him and the boy though the moment their eyes clapped on each other’s he felt some sort of electric pulse swarming his body. 

“Right, yes, thank you.” He nods through every word, desperately trying to find the right things to say without scaring him anymore.

“What’s your name?” Surprisingly, Harry’s the first to speak now, a confidence between his voice that wasn’t there. 

“Liam, uh, my name’s Liam.” He nods, as if to make his point clearer, Harry bowing his head in polite response with a tweak of his lips into a smile. 

“Hello Liam.”

“What’s yours?” His voice softens, Harry’s clear, hesitant nature showing. 

“Harry.”

Liam mirrors his head bow with a cheeky grin, earning a quiet laugh from Harry. It’s a short sound, sweet and tinkering nonetheless. “Hello Harry.”

They mirror each other’s smiles, Liam motioning his hand out as he begins to speak. “It was nice meeting you and once again I do apologise for being so clumsy.”

Harry tries to hide his smile, clamping his teeth down on his bottom lip and twirls his thumbs. “You are forgiven.” He gently jokes, eyes pure and wide. 

“That’s good..” Liam smiles, tilting his head to the side. “Well I best be going.” He nods his head again, beginning to walk backwards. “Goodbye.”

He approaches his white stallion, his fingers gripping onto the reigns as Harry picks up into a run after him, his feet gliding across the floor as he ducks beneath hanging branches and flowers. 

“Will you be back this way?!” 

Liam turns his head, adjusting the saddle before he props one foot into the stirrup. “Nothing could stop me.” 

“Then I’ll see you soon.” Harry affirms with a sweet smile and prominent dimples, loose curls prodding at his forehead. 

“Very soon.” 

He hoists himself onto the saddle with ease, the horse obediently beginning to trot forward. 

“Goodbye Liam!” 

“Goodbye, for now.”


	3. Chapter 3

They share one last smile, Liam disappearing out of sight when there’s a crow from a nearby bird as it hops against the tree. The raven flaps both wings, jumping back and forth from the edge of the branch to Maleficent’s face from the hidden security of the tree. 

“Would you stop doing that?” 

It crows again, a little louder this time before she flicks her hand towards it with a snap of her fingers, the bird effortlessly turning into a boy leaving a golden trail of dust to evaporate in the air. 

“Well,” Louis forces a smile, looking back between the clearing and Maleficent. As much as he wants to be with Harry himself he knows he can’t, conspiring that Liam might be able to save him is bittersweet but if he can save him he’ll do anything he can to push them together. “He’s the answer.”

She laughs, something between menacing and bored. “No, Louis.”

“Yes!” He defends, messily shoving his fingers through his hair, a light scar forming around his left eye. “True loves kiss. It can break the spell, remember?” 

“True loves kiss?” There’s a hint of mockery to her voice before her expression drops. “Have you not worked it out yet? I cursed him that way because there is no such thing.”

He groans, the noise slightly breathy and slightly agitated before his voice softens, the two of them avoiding eye contact at all costs. “Well that might be how you feel but what about Harry?”

She lets out a long sigh, deciding against speaking. Louis really does seem to get his hopes up the majority of the time, delusional ploys running through his head. “That prince might be his only chance. It’s his fate, anyway.”

She raises her hand, not sure whether she’s bored of his constant disagreeing or simply not ready to hear anymore. 

“Go ahead.” He rolls his eyes, silence lingering in the air for a moment. “Turn me into whatever you want, a bird, a worm, I don’t care anymore.” He doesn’t give her a chance to respond, carefully twisting his body to hop from the tree, something he’s grown accustomed to over the last few years. He expertly lands on both feet, steadying himself before walking away. Whether he’s being petty or he’s right he’s not sure. Either way he’s stubborn and he’s going to stick up for his own battles, especially when the battle involves Harry Styles.

**

There’s sprinkles of flour and clumps of butter scattering the floor by the time Harry returns back, pink icing leaking from a half empty pipe bag on the table, pathetically dribbling in small fractions onto the oakwood. 

He’d interrupted his aunts between another..disagreement, though of this time what it was about he wasn’t sure, timidly tracing his fingers over the door as sunlight spilt through the open wedge he was using his foot to keep open. They were covered in flour and sugar themselves, whatever they were trying to do clearly disastrous. 

Small blue butterflies hover around them, happily buzzing in the air with quiet patters of their wings.

“Aunties,” He starts, despite his confusion of the mess the cottage has become in the so little hours he’s been gone, the three women huddled together, all with beaming, somewhat fake smiles. 

He keeps his own face solemn, awkwardly trying to pick through his words. He’s practiced so many times now though his brain seems to be shifting through jumbles of phrases and sieving any words he once had prepared to form a logical sentence.

“I need to talk to you about something.” He let his feet take slow shuffles across the floor to approach them. 

“Of course, what is it dear?” Their voices are so comforting that each slight move of his feet, each word spoken, Harry feels a bit more guilt creeping alongside his shadow at the prospect of telling them. 

“Well,” His voice wavers, his tongue heavy in his mouth through his words. “I truly am sorry to have to tell you this but I’m eighteen tomorrow and-”

He’s cut off by frantic nods and excited shouts, the three of them turning in systematic unison to hold the cake they attempted to make. Attempt being the main word. 

It’s three layers of blue, pink and red icing, lopsided and melting together and it’s a lovely gesture he thinks, that they’ve taken the time and show clear excitement over such a small thing but it’s prolonging his point. 

The red layer of cake slides against the pale pink beneath it, fingers teetering the plate back to prevent it from falling. They’re as near as close to useless without the use of their magic but they’re proud of it so Harry can’t help but force a gentle smile, hoping it tastes better than it looks. He reaches a finger forward, ready to scoop icing onto his pinky and suck it off though quickly has his hand swatted away, recoiling it back to his chest with a weighted sigh. 

Maybe he’s hoping for a distraction, though he’s not entirely sure what it is. 

Just tell them, he thinks, impatient with himself. 

“I’m leaving home.” He blurts, the words spiralling from his mouth in a soft tone but much more sharper than he intends, his eyes slightly harsher than usual.

Their smiles fade almost instantly, twisting into looks of shock as the cake splatters to the floor with a heavy thud, smearing his shoes in mostly blue icing. 

“Now, listen here young man.” Flora’s the first one to speak and he’s not sure if her tone is anger or disappointment. Either way he doesn’t like it, it’s unfamiliar to his ears and rather..odd. Soon enough she’s pointing her finger at him, something that’s only happened a handful of times when he’s done something that could be considered irresponsible or stupid (he’s a Disney Prince, not a Saint). “I did not spend eighteen years in this miserable hovel with these two imbeciles!” She points both thumbs back at the other two fairies who barely have time to process a reaction before she erupts into her anger, yet comical filled speech again. “So that you could ruin it on the last day! We are taking you back to your father with-”

“My father..?” Harry cuts her off almost immediately, thoughts racing around his head so quickly he’s almost sure he can hear a light whirring in the back of his ears. 

They silence in return, mouths clamping shut with wide eyes at the realisation, looking around the room in efforts to change the conversation but something of this proportion isn’t going to drop so easily. 

“You told me my parents were dead!” He raises his voice and he’s sure it’s the first time he has, the sound echoing off the walls of the small cottage with an uncomfortable bounce. 

They stutter over nonsense words, hopelessly slurring words together before falling silent again, sharing small glances of panicked eyes. 

“I think you better come and sit down..”

**

It’s only fifteen minutes later when he leaves, a gentle wind coursing through his short locks of hair, a blue velvet cloak hanging over his shoulders and draping by his feet. He’s far too annoyed and confused to go back inside to get another that’s a little shorter, his skull pulsing against his head with an annoyingly loud drum either every sharp thud. 

He’s not really sure what to think because, well, he’s just been told he might die tomorrow. He’s supposed to anyway. 

Endless sleep, he knows, apparently that makes a difference. There’s a beacon of hope. Except there isn’t. Endless sleep is still death. 

He’s not certain whether it’s anger that’s mostly taking over, whether he is actually upset by it or he wants it to happen because he doesn’t know if he can take much more. He’s not sure where to direct his anger. Half of it’s towards Louis, he’s been cosying so close to him the last few weeks especially that Harry can’t help but feels like he’s being played. 

He knew. He knows. And he evidently was never going to inform him of it.

He impulsively lets his feet guide him, trying to empty his thoughts though no matter how much he tries clouds of thick smoke curl inside his head, seeping into every empty nook with an unforgiving hiss.

He picks up into a run after slow treads, the hood falling against his back as he picks his legs as fast as they can take him, ignoring the dull ache in the back of his thighs the quicker he runs. 

His breaths stagger, trying to evenly steady them as his head spins, colours and patterns blending int a mesh of exploding scenery. He runs as far into the woods as he can take himself, through the wheat field, shoes splashing through streams and hopping over rocks, crunching beneath fallen tree branches. 

When he finally reaches the Moors he twists and turns his body the only way he knows through, stretching his arms and kicking his feet until he squeezes through the branches, picking back into his run. 

“Fairy godmother!” It’s still afternoon, sunlight scouring the ground as his voice strains, his fingers dropping the cloak beneath him. 

Louis drops down in his face before he hears Maleficent, bent back upside down against the tree, his ankles holding him onto the branch with floppy hair and a wild grin. “You sound rather frantic young Harold,” He taunts, though their age difference is only a matter of months. “I can only imagine berry picking went horrifically wrong!”

He sends him an icy glare through laboured breaths, taking a confident stride away from the boys dangling body when Maleficent approaches, much calmer than he appears, his chest puffing outwards with every breath. 

“I’m here.” Her voice is quieter than normal, calmer and settling but Harry doesn’t like it. It’s too calm. Too settling. Too comfortable. 

“When were you going to tell me that I’m cursed?” Every pronunciation of his words becomes slightly sloppier, mingling together on the tip of his tongue in a confused daze. She doesn’t honour him with an answer and he doesn’t bother to look back at Louis, the staff hitting the floor their only source of noise as she moves closer towards his frantic body. 

When he doesn’t get an answer he begins to speak again, his lip trembling between his words with small flares of his nostrils. “Is it true?” His voice cracks, eyes closing in unison. He doesn’t have the energy to look at Louis, to admit to reality and he hopes for it to be fake, he really does, he knows it’s not but wishful thinking, childish daydreaming, they all seem like a better option than admitting . 

“It is.” 

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever heard pain in her voice but now he can hear it. He can hear the small crack of her usual show no emotion facade and he can feel his own heart slowly breaking in two at Harry’s shaking shoulders and quiet whimpers.

He almost wails, pressing the back of his hands to his eyes in a futile attempt to stop tears. His lip quivers as he pulls his hands back, salty tears gushing down his cheeks. 

“My- my aunts. They said it was an evil fairy?” His words come out faster than he intends, jumbling into a mesh of a sentence that sounds more like a question rather than a statement. 

“I can’t— I can’t remember her name, they said..it-” He starts to helplessly stutter over words with wet eyes, his breaths a little shorter, a little sharper. 

“Maleficent.” She answers for him, Louis’ eyes closing in defeat as he sits in the tree, painfully kicking one foot back against the trunk with a wrinkled nose and heavy hiss of pain. 

Harry rapidly nods his head, his tongue darting from his mouth to lick his dry lips before he pieces two and two together, Louis watching the moment of realisation like two clogs in a clock just slotted into perfect harmony and the hand began to tick again, the world began to move again.

Except time feels like it’s stopped and for what feels like forever there’s a long beat of silence, Harry’s eyes flickering back between the both of them.

“Is that..is that you? Are you Maleficent?” His voice breaks Louis that little bit more. Every word cracks, every word accompanied by a whimper of disbelief, his eyes glossy with tears. 

She doesn’t answer again but Louis doesn’t need to hear her to see the pain. It’s evident. His eyes are lighter than he’s ever seen, though her shoulders heavier and closer to tears. Louis’ never seen her cry. Not once. He doesn’t think he ever will. Harry has his way of breaking down barriers with people, reaching deep into their inner most fears and tugging it from them, reshaping and renewing them within himself. Everywhere he goes he leaves a trail of gold, a trail of sunshine that warms the back of your neck. He’s yet to break her to tears and it’s something Louis is convinced no being, human or mortal can achieve. 

She takes a step towards him, Harry’s body defensively stumbling backwards with his hands outstretched. “No!” He screams, it’s ugly from his lips and Louis doesn’t want to hear it again. His mouth curves into a shout again, loud and unforgiving. “Don’t touch me!” It’s more a shriek this time, his voice raising in pitch as he continues to stagger backwards, his eyes guiding towards Louis. 

“You’re the evil in the world!” He looks between them and it’s almost comical now. She warned him of this evil yet the whole time it’s been staring him in the face in the form of beauty. “It’s both of you!” 

Louis doesn’t protest. He can’t. There is nothing to protest. He’s sat and watched, he’s sat and known, he’s sat and done wrong. Evil? Not quite. Wrong? Absolutely. 

Harry runs before anybody has a chance to process anything, to think of a reaction, something suitable to say to him. At the first hit of his feet against the floor a clap of thunder sounds through the land, the wind eerily picking up between the leaves and then he’s gone completely, his long legs pushing him through the trees and narrow paths with bleary eyes and tear stained cheeks. 

“Find the prince!” It’s a shout, a scream maybe, more than anything else. A command though and one that they’re not negotiating. With a snap of her fingers the boy once sat in the tree now a silken raven, dodging its body to pivot through trees in desperate search of a savour.

** 

Harry’s long gone by the time Louis finds Liam, tugging on his shirt sleeve with his beak. 

“Go away,” He lazily batts a hand towards the bird but it’s persistent, squawking and pulling his sleeve until he tilts on his horse. “Go away!” He brushes his fingers past its wings, trying to push it away now. 

The colours of the sky grow a little darker, deep shades of blue tangling through a smoke of grey clouds all pointing towards the castle.

The bird squawks again, louder this time and Liam would hit it if he wasn’t so kind, it’s talons hooking onto his arms. “Get off me! Go!”

The bird doesn’t fault no matter how much Liam tries to shoo it away, his hand protectively gripping his sword when Maleficent comes to sight. 

He’s not scared of her, like those many years ago when he was intrigued by her, he’s not scared like everyone proclaims he should be.

“I’m looking for a boy.” His voice doesn’t waver despite his loss of courage, the bird perched on the floor now.

She almost smiles, her head methodically tilting to the side in impatience. “Of course you are.” 

Liam doesn’t have chance to protest his reasoning when his eyes fall heavy, fluttering against his skin. His body numbs, his limbs helplessly limp against his body, his head resting against the neck of the horse with a silent thud. 

“I need a horse.” She turns her head towards the bird that squawks, hopping forward on the ground, its wings nestled by its side. 

**

“I want every available man on the east wing now, there should be no guards at the gate. I want her to walk right in!” Stefan’s shouting but that’s nothing new to anybody, his voice wavering on insanity. He lost any soundness of his mind years ago. They’re all gathered around one table, a singular candle lit in the middle of the table, the last of the sunlight fading through the large open window. 

“Sorry to disturb your majesty,” There’s a pause in their talking, Stefan’s head turning threateningly slowly until his eyes land on Harry, awkwardly kicking the tip of his shoe against the base of his ankle. “We found this boy at the gate. He claims to be the Prince.”

He takes a few steps forward, the boy watching his father through a mess of curls. 

“Dad..” He speaks slowly, his voice much softer than he means for it to be. He doesn’t reply, nobody speaks, nobody expected him. He embraces him into a hug when he’s close enough, gingerly wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his nose down into his shoulder, his fingers gripping the back of his vest. For somebody who thought both his parents had tragically died when he was only a baby it’s a surreal moment, sacred.

The room stays silent, not even hushed whispers or feet against the flooring sounds. 

“You look just like your mother.” He notes finally, grasping Harry’s chin in his hand with a strong grip, not enough to hurt him but enough to hold him still to focus on his face. The blood red lips and chocolate curls that tumble unevenly over jade eyes. His smile fades the moment the realisation hits. 

“They brought you back a day too soon.” His voice grows darker with every word, spiteful. “I told those three idiots!” He cuts himself off, slamming both fists down into the table and only Harry seems to react, flinching back into the guards body. 

He turns around once he manages to collect himself, pointing out his fingers towards the hallway. “Lock him in his room, take Zayn to accompany him, they’re of a similar age.” 

Silence falls again, nobody threatening to move. 

“Go!” He commands in a shout, Harry’s lips parting as he tries to place his footing forward. His own father seems to be resenting him already, locking him away from freedom like he hasn’t spent his life cooped up within a cottage forbidden from talking to strangers. He doesn’t have chance to get any further, clumsily falling back on his feet with a sharp tug on his arm from the guard that took him in, ominously being pulled down quiet corridors towards what he presumes is now his room.

**

“So,” Zayn starts, leant against the door, absentmindedly twirling his fingers. “What’s it like being a Prince?”

“I don’t really know.” Harry responds, hands folded in his lap as he sits on the edge of his bed. 

Zayn cringes at his answer, crossing his arms over his chest. Of course he doesn’t know, he’s known he’s been a Prince for less than two hours, it was a stupid question. 

“Right, well, um, what was your life like? In the woods.” There’s not really much to talk about and it’s awkward enough as it is because he’s there to babysit Harry into not dying. Yeah. Easy. 

He shrugs, pinching his finger before trailing his other finger over the skin, pressing a little pressure down to hope the light tingle halts. “Nice, I suppose. Uneventful. Repetitive but..nice.” He drops his hand again, turning his head to Zayn. “What’s it like here?”

“Um.” Zayn frowns, refusing to meet his eyes. He extends his hand back, scratching his neck. “I can’t say my experiences would reflect onto yours.”

Harry winces in return, pinching his finger. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Fine.” He nods, weakly clearing his throat. “Fine.” He repeats, a knock on the door enough to startle Zayn forwards and distract him from asking any further questions. 

“It’s only me!” The voice sounds through the door, thick with a clear Irish twang. “They said you were here, so, I’m here.” 

He cracks the door open with a small creak, tugging the boy in by his arm except he’s not really a boy, he’s the oldest one in the room, early twenties but with a playful tone and larger than life presence.

“I was looking for Liam, have you seen him?” He tilts the glass bottle poised in his hand towards his mouth, offering it in a tilt towards Zayn. 

He declines, pushing his hand back down. “He went for a walk earlier. I don’t presume he’s come back but if he has then he’ll most likely be in the gardens.”

“He hasn’t. I’d know about it.” The boy shakes his head, his eyes finally landing on Harry, lips twisting into an amused smile. “You must be the Prince.”

He faints a light laugh, his tongue uncomfortable in his mouth against the pain in his finger. “Am I being talked about that much?”

“I’m afraid so,” He stretches out a hand, clasping the bottle behind his back with a light clink of glass that makes his fingers curl in against his skin and nose scrunch into wrinkles through a sharp inhale of breath. “I’m Niall.”

“Harry,” He focuses his attention on Niall’s hand instead of the throb in his finger, already aware that Niall knows who he is but it would be impolite to assume. They shake hands, pulling back only a moment later as Niall heads to the door. 

“Well, I should be off looking for my own Prince,” He attempts his teasing, his fingers twisting the door knob and promises to lock the door again once he’s gone. His voice drops, turning into something quiet and frantic when he next speaks. “Before his father has my head..or my father for that matter.” His lips don’t tweak into a grin and his voice is so solemn Harry can’t tell if he’s joking, instead offering a nervous smile and timid ‘goodbye’ when he disappears after exchanging a quiet whisper with Zayn out of his earshot, the two nervously glancing back towards him. 

When the door shuts they fall back to silence again, Harry suddenly jumping to his feet and Zayn doesn’t really react, just blankly stares at him before raising his eyebrow. 

“Can I have a glass of water?” He clasps his hands behind his back with a quiet clap, sliding his fingers between each other and securely presses his palms down against his cold skin. “Please?”

“Oh,” Zayn stands to his feet, sliding the key from his pocket. He dangles it between his fingers, his jaw clenching. “Yeah, sure, just..I’m going to have to lock you back in alright?” 

Harry doesn’t answer, instead signifying the key with a nod, turning his head up towards the top of the bed post. They stay in silence until Zayn leaves, the door locking with an obnoxiously loud click when he winces again, a sharp pain splitting through his finger. 

He raises it in the air, frowning when the pain shoots again, pacing the floor. His feet wander to the double doors, tugging on the handles although he only just heard Zayn lock it from the outside. He grunts, letting his forehead fall forward and lets his eyes close when hushed whispers sound. 

At first he puts it to his imagination before the whisper sounds again, the words clearer this time, sharper. It’s a female voice, beckoning him forward in a twist of fury but collected calm that draws him in.

His eyes snap open, obediently following the voice to the tapestry hanging on the wall. It’s woven in deep blues and gold, his hands impatiently pressing flat against the tapestry and solid wall. He follows the tapestry down the room, his hands and fingers feeling over the cool of cement and wool that scratches his palms with every drag of his hands. His hands finally dip in at an opening, snatching the tapestry back to reveal a door. 

He doesn’t hesitate in his reaction, slamming his hands out flat against the door in a desperate knock. Nobody answers. He balls one hand into a fist, knocking the base of it against the door again as the whispers begin to jumble together in his head, sounding more like poisonous hisses of a snakes tongue with quiet, nearly inaudible mixes of his name imbedded between short cries. 

The noise cuts off when the door opens, his eyes not having time to give the old woman who opens the door a second glance. He picks up into a jog after the now audible whispers, his feet pattering against the floor as he runs down the corridor, twisting through unfamiliar halls, dark shadows creeping beneath his shoes. 

“Wait! Your Majesty!” He barely hears the woman’s calls, her voice high and whiny. He nearly falls down the staircase when he approaches it, the whispers louder against his eardrums as he races each stair, missing one with every few steps, squeezing his finger. 

He weaves past working women who are far too busy with cleaning sheets and clothing to notice him, a loud call of ‘Harry’ disrupting him. His eyes blankly stare towards the sheet pegged up in the other room, lazily swinging back and forth in the breeze. 

His body guides him towards the room before his mind gets a second choice in the matter, his hands pushing back silk sheets in follow of the voice. It’s pounding in his ears now, deafeningly loud as his body guides him forwards, his eyes blank with every slow blink against his cheeks.

He continues down another set of steps once passing the empty courtyard, the halls much darker than before, his eyes squinting to see. A sudden clap of white light flashes over his body though it doesn’t startle him, his hair blowing back at the force. Green smoke plumes from underneath the door, evaporating into the air as it twirls and twists, sparkling away in small sections, the door creaking open, calling him forward. He follows the light, his voice plummeting into darkness as he enters the room, his eyes curiously peering at the stacks of broken spinning wheels, hundreds upon hundreds of them slotted together between burnt wheels and broken needles. 

His hand stretches in the air, guiding him forward with a loud whisper and then a hiss, his fingers closing in all for one that stays outstretched, forcing his body forward to duck and turn through the mess of broken wood and metal. When he reaches the centre of the room green smoke arises around a broken spinning wheel, rebuilding it in the empty corner until the needle glints in the darkness with a metallic clink and it looks as new as the first day it was created.

Everything seems to go in slow motion from that moment forth, Harry’s feet dragging across the floor with a blank stare, his finger outstretched towards the needle. 

He’s almost sure he hears Maleficent’s voice, a desperate plea of “Come on Louis!” sounding in the back of his head before the whisper sounds again, multiple voices tangling into one.

“Touch it. Touch the spinning wheel..” seems to be on repeat through his mind, clouding any vision or thought as his finger hovers over the needle, his chest heaving. His skin lights up in a golden-yellowish light from the wheel, shadowing beneath his neck and eyes as he begins to lower his finger. 

Blood spills from the small prick, his eyesight blurring into a multitude of colours as he stares at his finger, deep shades of blood trickling down his hand. His eyes fall heavy before any other thoughts seep into his brain, the pained cry of a horse that turns into a boys scream battering his eardrums as his limbs fall limp, his body surrendering into an unconscious heap between stacks of broken spinning wheels. 

**

Zayn finds him, his limbs sprawled beneath his clothing, dry blood staining his hand. With Niall’s help they sling his arms around their shoulders, carefully pulling him back up the stairs without another word because really, the boy is dead and they have true loves kiss but for someone who’s lived as a recluse in the woods for eighteen years they don’t suspect true loves kiss will magically walk into his life.

It’s awkwardly silent, his feet dragging across the floor and Zayn’s more worried that Stefan’s going to slaughter him because yes, okay, he found him and he probably should’ve never have left him to get the glass of water but it’s not his fault!

“You did lock the door didn’t you?” Niall whispers, flexing his back from the small pain shooting through his muscles. 

“Yes I locked the door!” Zayn spits back through his teeth, carefully stepping up the next staircase with the weight of Harry’s body pressed against his. “He went through another one. There was another one, in his room, behind the tapestry.” 

“Right..” Niall sounds slightly weary in his answer, carefully manoeuvring the now unconscious body propped up between the two of them. “Well he still has true loves kiss right? Liam! That’s why we’re here.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says through a heavy sigh, stepping into the hallway lit by torches of flame. “Yeah. Liam.”

**

The sky’s have grown darker, murky clouds foreboding over the castle by the time they get there. Liam’s still unconscious himself, his body lifelessly floating in the air as Louis securely ties the white stallion to the post. 

“They’ve pulled the guards.” He states the obvious, taking a slow step towards Maleficent before continuing with a light head nod. “They’re waiting for you in there. He’s waiting for you, if we go in we won’t come out alive.” Each sentence gets a little more real as he speaks, struggling to roll from his tongue. 

“Then don’t come.” She doesn’t bother to look back at him, Louis shifting his weight from foot to foot. “It’s not your fight.” She begins to walk forward, Liam’s body moving in trance. 

“Huh.” Louis scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Well thank you very much!” He tilts his body, eyeing the gargoyle statue poised on the wall as it stares at him, taunts him. “‘I need you Louis!’” He dramatically throws both his hands in the air and begins to follow her, mirroring her steps with quiet words. “‘I can’t do this without you Louis!’” His feet sound over the cobblestone flooring, the small heel of his boots clicking against the bridge. 

“I can hear you.” Maleficent taunts back, his cheeks flushing pink underneath the dark of the night. 

They continue in silence, Louis stuffing both hands into his pockets, the building eerily quiet. They’re both aware they’ve been anticipating her arrival, on the lookout for any signs of danger. The walk in is as simple as it can be, Louis careful of his footing and nudging Liam’s body if he frets he’s too far. He stumbles forward, his feet skidding against the floor as he comes to a stop at Maleficent’s back, mumbling incoherent words when his eyes focus in on the maze of iron prepped in the corridor. 

It’s her one weakness, painfully obvious now, jagged iron curling into the middle of the corridor.

Louis taps his finger against Liam’s arm, carefully pulling his body down. He flashes a panicked smile, licking his lips a second later. “You can go first.” He pauses, his voice sugary sweet as he speaks, trying to mask his panic because Harry’s kind of definitely dead at the moment and he could be in the next ten minutes. 

Any time they move close the floorboards creak, Maleficent taking lead and Louis almost squeals once, quickly hiding the noise with an anxious lip bite. 

He pivots his back against the sharp edges, trying not to impale himself nor Liam in crouches and twists of his body through the corridor when he hears something between a gasp and hiss of pain, one of the points of the iron glowing a bright orange after touching it. 

They share a look, Louis craning his neck back as he takes the next step, attempting to keep his calm expression as he finally slides one foot to the end, slipping his feet past the maze of iron with a firm pull on Liam’s shoulders and steadies his floating body.

The soft patter of feet walking across the floor echoes in the distance, Louis pushing his body up against the archway to hide his body, his hand clenching Liam’s shirt. When the noise turns to silent they continue on, carefully rounding the corner and staying hidden in the shadows pressed against the walls, twisting up marble pillars. 

He hooks an arm around Liam’s wrist, pulling him closer towards the ground when armour clatters against armour, Louis half hiding behind the corner while Maleficent stays hidden behind a curtain draped from the ceiling, rope bunching it together in the middle parting.

She nods her head towards Louis, her neck barely moving before Louis lets his grip on Liam fade, gently pushing his fingertips until his body floats in mid air, upside down in the corridor. 

The guard, naturally, begins to walk towards the boy, eyes closed and completely lifeless, his hands hovering against his side though he doesn’t get much chance to look at him before Maleficent hits him with her sceptre, a soft grunt and clatter leaving him unconscious on the floor. 

She steps forward with a pleased hum, Louis raising onto his tiptoes to lower Liam to his level again and guide him along, attempting to keep up with quiet footsteps. 

**

“What are we going to do? We can’t just give up.” 

The hum of wings patters against their backs, the three fairies hopelessly perched in the doorway. 

“We don’t even know where to start.”

“True love doesn’t just fall from trees you know?”

As if on cue a heavy thud paired with a pained grunt sounds from outside the door, the two fairies sat on the doorframe quickly forcing it open by the handles to reveal Liam who quickly spins around on the floor, his mouth dry and hair messily flopping in front of his eyes. 

He turns onto his stomach, propping his elbows up in his dazed state, his eyes flickering to the three fairies fluttering above him. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again, the fairies still evidently there.

“I’m embarrassed to say I don’t know where I am.” He finally speaks, his voice soft, resting the waters. 

“This is King Stefan’s castle.”

He edges onto his feet, brushing down one arm and grips his shoulder, rolling it backwards. “This is where i’m meant to be.” He mumbles, almost unheard as his eyes curiously glance around the room. “Odd that I can’t recall how I got here..”

“Why have you come?” One flutters slightly closer towards him, eyebrow inquisitively raised. 

“My father sent me.” He responds shortly, nodding his head. He’s been there for a few days now, accompanied by Niall, but he disappears most days, spending hours basking in the simplicity he finds within the woods and village where people don’t know who he is, exploring his new found freedom.

“Who’s your father?” 

“King John,” He nods his head again, clasping his hands in front of his chest as though the answer is obvious. “Of Ulstead.” 

Short whirrs of wings fill the air, the three fairies exasperatedly sharing looks. “A Prince!” They clasp their small hands at his clothes, pushing and shoving him to Harry’s bedside before letting go, leaving him to steady himself for a moment. 

He cocks his head, looking down at the boy with familiarity. His soft skin reflects from sunlight through an open window as he lays helplessly in the bed, mouth pressed together into a solemn straight lip, his eyelashes lidded as they dust against his cheeks. 

“Harry..” He dips his body over the bed, his palm brushing against his and Harry’s head sits propped onto a pillow. 

“He knows him.” Liam hears the fond whisper, his eyes meeting the fairies. 

“We met.” He affirms with wandering eyes, his fingers bumping against Harry’s knuckles. “Once upon a dream.”

“Don’t you want to kiss him?!” The fairies voice grows louder, her wings moving at a faster pace and all Liam can do is stare at him with a dumbfounded look. 

“Very much..” His eyes gloss over as he speaks, trapped within his own enchantment of fate. 

Louis swerves into the room in silence, following Maleficent to hide behind a folding screen made of gold, intricate designs of roses patterned into it. 

“Go on then!” The fairies impatiently gather around him, the noise of their wings buzzing in his ear. 

He frowns, trailing a single finger over Harry’s hand. “I wouldn’t feel right about it.” He turns his head up. “We’ve only met once.” 

“Haven’t you heard of love at first sight?! Kiss him!” 

He slowly leans down only to freeze half way, his shoulders hunching as he moves back to look at them. “Love at first sight?” 

“Kiss him!” They repeat in a chorus this time, much louder with all their voices tangling together. 

Liam carefully steadies his body around Harry’s, Louis watching in anticipation. This has to work. It has to. 

He angles his body down between his neck and forehead, pressing his lips to his. Part of him’s waiting for the explosion in his stomach, a sweet tingle against his lips, the flutter of eyelids and joyful cries but nothing happens. 

He lets their lips part, swallowing the thick lump in his throat with parted lips as he watches Harry. His eyes don’t falter and neither does his body, as still as before. 

Louis feels his heart rip into two, painfully cutting away as anxiety pools his stomach. He wants to scream. He wants to throw his body on the floor and scream and kick like a child. He doesn’t care, he wants to destroy everything in the room, tear down curtains and hurtle lampshades across the floor. Instead he stays still, his eyes watering and lips trembling, fingers shaking. It’s an icy stab, a deep pain piercing his chest and cramping his body.

“You didn’t do it properly! It’s supposed to be true loves kiss!” Liam’s yanked up by his collar before he has a chance to protest, being pushed out of the room as quickly as he was forced in. 

“What- What are you doing?” He stumbles over his own feet, all three fairies ignoring his questions and complaints. 

“I really thought he was the one!”

“We have to keep looking!” He falls back to the floor with a low grunt, running his fingers against his forehead when the doors shut, leaving Harry inside with Maleficent and Louis who are both completely silent, staring blankly at the floor in despair. Their one shot, Harry’s one chance, ruined. 

“I told you.” 

Louis almost sobs, trapping the noise in his throat as she walks from the screen. 

He follows along, his head cloudy with thought, only spiralling when he sees him laying so still in the bed, so deathly and pale. He presses both hands to his eyes, shakily pushing back salty tears as his chest ripples and shakes with each cry. 

He can’t bring his feet to move, his body frozen to the spot as Maleficent sits beside his bed, staring down at his motionless body.

“I will not ask for your forgiveness,” She starts, unsure if he can even hear him. “Because what I have done to you is unforgivable. I was so lost in hatred and revenge. You stole what was left of my heart and now I have lost you forever,” 

Louis sobs again, whimpering in his throat. 

“I swear no harm shall come to you as long as I live and not a day shall pass that I don’t miss your smile.” She smiles, slowly stepping from his bed and she’s— she’s crying. It’s the first time Louis’ ever seen any emotion from her like it, thick tears streaming down her cheeks in silent gushes. 

They switch positions once Louis’ feet will to move, crouching beside his bed. 

He clamps his hand into Harry’s almost immediately, his skin tingling against his in a fury of small flushes. He squeezes, hooking his fingers through his and blows hot air from his nostrils. “Harry,” He whispers, his voice edging between letters. “Not a day will go by where I don’t think of that smile, that incredible laugh. You’ve truly enchanted us all.” His voice falls again, eyes shifting to Maleficent before they fall back to Harry through a snorted, snotty laugh. “Even her.” He whispers again, voice quieter. 

His fingers contract, just holding his limp hand for a moment, his body cold to touch. “That day you said you’d protect me in the river, you vowed to and you did, though I’m not sure what from. Now I’ll vow the same to you. I’ve failed from protecting you from some things but I promise to protect you now, to keep you safe.” He lets out a deep sigh, his ears ringing with distant repeats of Harry’s voice from another time. “You caught me Harry Styles. My one wish, my one rule was not to let you trap me, yet you have.” 

Louis bows his head down to brush his lips over Harry’s forehead, his lips warm and plump against the contrast of his skin. “I’m yours.” He whispers in his final goodbye, standing from the side of the bed. He surveys his closed eyes, raising his head back to blink back tears with blurry vision, the ceiling spinning and lights blotchy before he stands, taking one hesitant step away.

“Pretty boy.” The croaked, hoarse voice comes a second later, a playful taunt on his pretty bird compliment.

Louis spins back on his feet through a loud and teary laugh, his mouth open and eyes crinkling in unison with each chest shake. “You’re- you- It was me!” He exclaims, dropping to his knees to grip both of Harry’s hands. 

He laughs, cracking a wide smile through white teeth and squeezes Louis’ hands, gripping his chin only a second later. He greedily presses their lips together with trembling fingers and intimate touches, childishly giggling through quiet “It was you’s” repeatedly murmured against his lips. 

His tummy swirls with warmth, exploding into a fusion of electricity that patters against his body, consuming him whole in long, needy kisses. 

“Hello, Godmother.” He smiles, lips upturning when they break away and he looks to Maleficent who’s quietly let them have their moment. 

Louis’ slightly smug about the whole true loves kiss thing but he doesn’t suppose that now is the time to gloat about being right. He’ll save that for later.

“Hello, Beasty.” She smiles back, matching his infectious look with her own. 

**

It’s an agonisingly slow walk back, Maleficent careful with each testing step while Harry stays by her side, impatiently hovering closer to the door and Louis trails behind, keeping lookout. 

It’s all oddly quiet, each step loud against the silent floors. 

They reach the ballroom, strips of moonlight escaping through the slits of the window onto the empty floor. Louis doesn’t trust it and by Maleficent’s dismissive looks neither does she. 

“Are we going back to the Moors now?” Harry whispers with wide eyes and an innocent twang. He bares his teeth into an overjoyed smile, inquisitively peering up at Maleficent through the darkness. 

“If that is what you wish.” They nod at each other, Louis slipping back on his feet to check the hallways. It’s too quiet, far too quiet. On their way in they’d heard quiet chatter, the light pattering of feet. Now there’s nothing and it’s wrong. 

She steps forward, surveying the shadows and beckons Harry forward when she thinks it safe. He only takes one step before it happens, a heavy iron net trapping her on the floor with a pained cry and clatter of metal. 

Harry rushes to her side, a futile attempt of lifting the net with no hope, the back of his throat emitting scratchy screams. “Stop! Let her go!” His fingers begin to tremble against the metal, desperately trying to prise it from the floor with no luck, two guards gripping his arms before he has any more chance. 

He blindly screams and thrashes his arms against them though they’re evidently stronger, hands gripping his sides until they throw him back against the wall with complaints he can’t completely figure out, his ears ringing into deafening silence. Pain splits through his body when he lands, propping his hands up against the cold of the floor, his muscles throbbing.

Only then does he notice Louis trying to kick and scream his way to her, though they aren’t even certain who he is, dismissing him as a common worker or aid to the royals, nonsense shouts echoing around the halls in chaos. 

He watches it happen before his eyes, Maleficent’s eyesight hazy, flashes of colours blurring into clumps of shades before Louis isn’t a boy, nor a bird or anything remotely close to what he’s been before, the boy transforming to a dragon grand in size with hot bursts of fire. It’s scaly with loud wings against each beat, smoke curling from its nose and fire bellowing from its mouth in fury. It destructs anything that gets remotely in its way, burning fire into the floor with cold eyes. Each spur of fire mirrors with thick, grey smoke, recklessly pounding flames down the floor tires and against armour. 

The room fills with cries and shrieks, the dragon clenching the net between its teeth effortlessly before throwing it against the window until it smashes through the glass, shards sputtering over the floor. 

The dragon lurches forward, dragging its colossal wings at its side into another blow of red hot flames. It gets lost in its anger, ripping its claws at any guard that threatens to near it with a spear, hissing and blowing plumes of black smoke from its nose.

A pillar tumbles to the ground, exploding into crumbles of stone as they sprawl into the already burning flames, setting alight. 

“Run Harry!” He’s not sure where the shout comes from, his body weakly thrown just meters away from the destructed pillar but he blankly follows the voice, a squeak of fear leaving his lips when another falls to the ground in an explosion of dust and flame. 

Two strong hands grip his sides, tugging him up the staircase with murmured words of comfort, his eyes focusing in and out on the figures until he realises it’s Zayn and Liam. He doesn’t have time to reply before they push him into one of the rooms, locking the door behind him and leaving them trapped with a click. 

“I thrive off of chaos but this, this is something else.” Niall’s the first to speak, Liam pacing the floor when Harry realises he’s there, his mouth dry and head heavy. 

He parts his lips to speak, taking in Niall’s figure perched on the floor with his arms draped over his knees. His eyes aimlessly wander to the covered cabinet, thick metal barriers protecting the glass. 

He hops forward, pulling down the curtain until dust feathers around Niall’s head, leaving him leaning forward with a desperate cough into his elbow and quiet complaint. 

He ignores him, all three of them staring at him like he’s absolutely insane and maybe he is, maybe he’s not thinking straight but both Louis and Maleficent are trapped in that room and he’ll teeter on the brink of insanity if it means saving them. He brushes both of his palms flat against the glass cabinet, his hands spaced out against the glass until dust falls from his palms when he pulls back. 

He peers into the cabinet, jumping back in fright when wings begin to beat and struggle inside. They madly thrash, trying to escape from their confinement with heavy thuds when a shriek comes from the other room before a loud drop to the floor sounds, cracks splitting through the ground as chains rustle against the dragons skin. 

It falls silent next, Harry’s heart clenching in his chest at the prospect of his own father killing Louis. 

“You’ve got to help me!” He pleads, Niall nervously peering up at the wings. 

“What have we got to do?” Zayn questions first, much to Harry’s surprise, Liam half hidden behind his body with a firm grip on his shirt. 

“Help me push it!” His eyes widen, doe like before he stands on the back platform behind the cabinet, uselessly pushing his hands to waver it though it barely moves. Niall joins him next, the two sharing grunts and desperate pushes of sweaty hands to try and tip it. 

Zayn and Liam move to the sides, each of them trying to push it. 

“On three.” Liam instructs, taking the lead as they all push away for a split second. “One,” They share a look. “Two.” They prepare their hands. “Three!” All four of them heave their bodies against the cabinet with anguished shouts and nonsensical pushes of hands. It falls with a loud clatter, all of them jumping away as the wings rise from the back, splits of wood and glass shards sprawled over the floor. They raise into the air, spreading into feathery wings that drag across the floor with each flutter, a pained whimper crying out from the dragon.

They run across the balcony in time to see it happen and for a short moment Harry thinks she might be dead, the dragons head hopelessly laying against the floor, chains wrapped around its legs, wings and jaw. 

He clenches his hands onto the balcony, his heart in his throat and eardrums pounding when a shot of gold light filters against the smoke and fire, thick, feathered wings attached to Maleficent’s back just as they had been years ago. 

“Kill her!” 

A candleholder falls from the ceiling, flames engulfing the floor in an angry spit of flickering ambers, giving the dragon a chance to rip from the flames, throwing guards against the walls and spiralling them into bursts of flame. 

An iron chain wraps around Maleficent’s leg, none other than Stefan grasping it, madly screaming about shooting her and no matter how much Harry cries and screams from afar he can’t hear him. He’s blind in his chaos, power hungry and evil. She overpowers him in strength, wings madly smashing against her back as she flies, dragging him across the floor and straight through the main window, shards of glass spinning back in her scream. 

Harry loses all sight of her once she flies from the window, only hearing an ear-piercingly loud scream minutes later as they hurtle to the ground, turning and reaching for saviour. 

Stefan hits the ground in a deathly smash, his eyes still open as he stares at the sky, blood smothering the ground in splatters of crimson red. Maleficent stares down at him from her floating position, her feet barely grazing the ground as she lands. 

“It’s over.”

**

“I don’t,” John frowns, both of Liam’s hands resting on his own. “I don’t understand.” 

“Oh father,” Liam sighs, squeezing his father’s hands in his sturdy grip. “You’re living in the past! It’s the 14th century!” He exclaims, tilting his head down to look at him with his most innocent look and a light pout of the lips. 

“You want to marry a peasant boy?” He wrinkles his nose, eyes softening at his sons nod. 

“A hot peasant.” He corrects, drawing his finger across his hand.

“Well,” He sighs again, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Does he make you happy, son?” 

“He does.” Liam doesn’t hesitate, his words colliding with John’s with a light twinkle of his eyes. “Very happy.”

He smiles, pure and soft. “Then you have my blessing, Liam. That’s all I ever wanted for you. Happiness.” 

**

The sun caresses the ground, droplets of water sliding against the tree bark as Harry sits perched against the oak tree, curiously watching the castle from afar. His lips brighten into a smile at the sight of Maleficent, the wall of thorns disappearing into the ground from the distance, the sun shining a little brighter. 

Flowers bloom over the Moors, creatures happily conversing in open spaces of fresh grass and flowing streams of water, lily pads surfacing trickles of water. It returns back to what it once was, shimmering golds and bright flowers, happy chatter. 

Louis clears his throat behind him, his hands pressing to his chest in shock before he turns to look at him, dropping his hands back to his lap. 

His shirt is unbuttoned to his chest, hair slicked back as he rolls his sleeves to his elbows and extends his hand, fingers spread. “I’ve been sent to find you,” He bows his head, back arching. “Your Majesty.” 

“Thank you Sir.” Harry mocks, tilting his head back as he gathers to his feet, gripping Louis’ hand in his. His touch is still just as magical as it was before, their skin delicately pressing together with small sparks of warmth. 

They walk hand in hand until they reach the mainland, Louis joining Maleficent’s side. They stand beside a throne, though not one you might expect, decorated by clusters of blossoms and scatters of plants, every mythical being gathered for the ceremony. 

“Hurry up! They’re waiting!” The quiet whisper in the recognisable tone sounds from the fairies, clumsily holding the crown in their small hands, fluttering between the group. 

Fauna lags behind, her small wings finally catching up with an exasperated “Wait for me!” 

They drop the crown in Louis’ hands, his eyes quickly surveying it. It’s twists of golden leaves and flowers, carefully formed into something of resemblance of a flower crown. He steps forward when he gets the confirmation nod from Maleficent, carefully placing the crown on Harry’s mop of wavy hair, their fingers brushing each other’s cheeks with quiet giggles.

“Our kingdom’s have been unified! You have your King!”

Louis’ lips split into a grin, mischievously curling upwards with gleaming eyes as the creatures cheered and cooed, Louis posing both fingers in his mouth to whistle in return.

He wraps an arm around his waist, the two pressing their noses together with childish laughs. Their lips press together in a flurry of white hot sparks, tongues sliding against tongues, skin presses to skin as the world explodes around them in shades of gold and pink. 

Zayn and Liam were happily married, spending their days in quiet harmony together, life long gone from the stress of royal life. Niall spent his time between kingdoms, happily frolicking through the Moors and teaching children stories of magical creatures in neighbouring villages, settling with a village girl at a respectable age. Maleficent continued to watch over the land, flying with a content heart, bright once again. 

Louis and Harry spent their days laughing in loved bliss, sharing sacred secrets with longing kisses, gentle touches and sweet nothings whispered in the breeze, caring for each kingdom with a generous ruling as they cared for each other. 

And, you see, the story is not quite how you were told and I should know, for I who wrote this story, was the boy they called Sleeping Beauty.


End file.
